


The Next Step

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: The Detective and the Doctor [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Ball Gags, Bondage Mask, Caning, Cock Cage, Corporal Punishment, Crying, Cuffs, Dom!John, Dominance, Gags, Handcuffs, Humbler, Johnlock - Freeform, Kneeling, Light Bondage, M/M, Milking, Orgasm Denial, Paddling, Prostate Milking, Punishment, Slash, Sounding, Spanking, Submission, sub!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-02 01:00:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5227832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock wants to take their D/s relationship to the next level. John obliges.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Getting What He Wants

Sherlock appeared sheepishly from the bedroom door. He had a towel around his shoulders and his hair was wild where he had run it though the mess that was his curls. He had been very subdued since he'd asked John yesterday, the worst part was he wanted it but John hadn't given him a response.

For the first time in ages, the doctor felt awkward around Sherlock. Hell, he had never felt this awkward around the man. He had to get a grip on himself.

Maybe he'd pushed the doctor too far? He didn't want to, they were fine as they were, but that idea of the full time dominance that John showed more and more just wouldn't leave the porch of his Mind Palace. He sighed and turned back into the bedroom. He was not hiding.

John had caught a glimpse of Sherlock's face. He had been wearing that confused expression, the one he wore when he thought he had done something a bit not good, but wasn't exactly sure what. The doctor couldn't let that stand, not when, for once, Sherlock had been innocent. John stiffened his back with resolve and strode to their bedroom.

He wasn't hiding, not at all. He was just staying out of the way, that was it. What if John didn't want to be responsible for everything? Why would he want to? Sherlock spent the majority of his time being rude and arrogant and running off, why would John want to be responsible for all that?

Just as Sherlock was about to throw himself onto the bed, the door flew open behind him. Before he knew what was happening, John had tackled him to the bed and pinned him down. The detective struggled against him, reflexively, until he felt John's knee press threateningly against his crotch. Sherlock stilled instantly.

“Is this what you wanted?” the doctor asked in a low growl.

He didn't know what to say. Sherlock didn't respond verbally instead he pushed up on his palms, lifting his upper body off the bed. John wasn't happy with the non-verbal response, if this was going to work there needed to be communication. The detective swallowed awkwardly when John grabbed one arm, pulled it behind him and up between his shoulder blades successfully quelling the fight from the younger man and forcing his face into the bed.

If anyone else had done that to him, Sherlock would have bucked them off and sent them flying, then he would have knocked out some teeth for good measure. Feeling John on top of him, however, made the detective go pliant, soft and shivery all over. Well, almost all over. The doctor gave his arm a wrench.

“Well?” John asked, his voice full of warning.

This was... “Yes, John. Please,” Sherlock begged.

“Are you begging me, Sherlock Holmes?” John was completely bewildered.

Sherlock wriggled slightly, indignant. But he couldn't fight it anymore, he needed to submit, he needed to be dominated. He felt the need to argue, to wind John up so the older man would be rough with him, but he couldn't bring himself to disappoint him. His arm was wrenched a bit further.

“Yes, John. I am.”

The doctor's breath was taken away by those words. Sherlock Holmes, the man who had never begged for anything in his life, was begging him.

“Okay, then.” John leaned down and nipped at Sherlock's neck just below his earlobe. “If that's what you need, Love.” He bit down hard enough to leave a bruise, but not so hard as to break the skin. “Play now or talk?”

“Talking John? How dull.”

He yelled out in pain as John knelt up, still holding his arm behind him, but moving his legs to press up against his balls.

“Did you just call me dull?” John's voice was low and threatening.

Out of principle Sherlock struggled again, using his free arm to reach around and hit out at the doctor. John knew what he was up to; delaying things. He just grabbed that arm too, pressing it into a similar position as his other one. “Decision time Mr. Holmes.”

“I would have thought my answer was obvious.”

“Oh, such cheek!” John forced the detective onto his back so that he could see his face. He sat atop Sherlock's thighs, holding the detective's wrists tightly. “You're in for a rough time of it, Love,” John put a dangerous emphasis on the appellation. “And don't think we won't be talking later.”

Sherlock glared up at him defiantly. “You talk all the time, John, but I sometimes choose not to listen.”

“Well, pet,” Sherlock's eyes blew at that. “You'd better listen very carefully.”

“Or what?” Sherlock challenged.

This was the tipping point, then. John could ignore the challenge or take the plunge and introduce another new element to their relationship. He thought fast, sifting through his options. Backing down was right out. If he did that, it would mean the end to all of this, he was certain.

“Or I'll put you over my lap and spank you like the misbehaving child that you are. No, not like that,” he corrected himself. “The spanking you'll get wouldn't be suitable for a child. I'll ensure that you won't be able to sit comfortably for days.”

Sherlock glanced first from one wrist, then to the other where John now had them pinned tightly by his sides. He struggled slightly and John clenched his fists around his wrists so tightly his knuckles went bone white.

“Alright John,” he winced, hissing air through his teeth. “I'll listen. I promise.”

John loosened his grip slightly, knowing he would probably have to resort to the spanking later. Sherlock was good at making pie crust promises: easily made, easily broken. “Okay, then. I want you on the bed, on all fours.” He slid off the detective and to the side, his eyes falling on Sherlock's raging erection. This might actually work between them.

Sherlock rotated his wrists slightly with a pointed look and a sly grin towards the doctor even as he headed into the bathroom in search for lube.

Sherlock took his chance. His cock was throbbing and he quickly scrambled to get into position. Then he balanced on one hand reached his other down to his leaking cock.

When the doctor returned, he stopped dead in the doorway, just looking at his pretty detective rutting into his own hand. He felt the sympathetic swell of his own cock in his jeans. John took one step forward then remembered himself. He was supposed to be in charge here. Grasping his sub's arm, he pulled, causing the younger man to collapse on his chest.

“John!” Sherlock complained.

“No, don't 'John' me, Sherlock!”

He had been so close, his orgasm mere moments away. He didn't see what the problem was. John had said he wanted to talk. Surely the quicker he got his orgasm out of the way the quicker they could talk.

“But-”

“And no 'buts'.” John slapped him on his arse and growled out. “Over my lap now!”

Sherlock rolled over, propping himself up on his arms. He looked lost. “I don't understand.”

“The spanking I mentioned before? Well, you've earned it, pet.”

There was so much wrong with that statement, Sherlock thought. “That's twice you've called me ‘pet’. Why?”

John roughly manhandled him over his lap. “Because, pet, that is your name when you're in trouble.” Raising his hand high, the doctor asked, “Problem?”

“Yes. Problem. I'm not a dog.”

John shifted the detective over his knees slightly so his head was on the bed and he had a good view, his lover's hard cock settled between his legs.

“We could always try 'boy', if that's what you'd prefer?”

Sherlock couldn't work out whether he wanted that or not.

John dropped his hand on Sherlock's arse. “Eh, boy?”

The detective's cock jumped, much to his mortification. He turned his face into John's leg and whimpered.

“I take it that's a yes, then,” the doctor laughed, bringing his hand down lightly on Sherlock's arse. He rubbed it absently as he spoke, “When you implied that you wanted punishment, this is what you were signing up for. You do understand that?” John asked quietly.

“Ys hn,” came the muffled reply.

“What was that?”

Sherlock gave a huff and squirmed suggestively. “Yes, John.”

“Well then.” John tipped the detective off his lap and he landed in a head on the floor. His gaze shot up in mortification.

“I don't understand.”

“If you like being spanked it isn't a punishment, is it? You were after punishment, in other words you want me to do something to you that you won't like.”

Sherlock's mouth opened and closed several times, making him resemble nothing so much as a fish. For once, the detective was at a loss for words. John opened the bedside table and retrieved something, Sherlock couldn't see what it was. He scrambled back, but stopped himself at a sharp glance from the doctor.

John crouched down and, with practiced ease, snapped a cock ring in place around Sherlock's erection and sack.

“This is punishment?” A note of sarcasm had crept into the detective's voice.

“Oh, we're not playing with orgasm delay. This is denial, pure and simple.” John grinned at the shocked look on Sherlock's face. “And I'm going to get off by fucking you into the mattress.”

That didn't sound as bad as it could be. John always liked it hard and fast. Fast meant the sooner this was over, the sooner he could have a shower and have a quick wank without the doctor’s knowledge. Easy.

“And don't even think of having a quick wank when I'm not looking,” John warned.

Sherlock scowled - he was supposed to be the mind reader, after all. He put on his most innocent expression which only served to make the doctor more suspicious. He grinned at his sub, thinking that he would have to short circuit the detective's plans. As soon as the doctor finished with him, there would be a cock cage with Sherlock's name on it.

“Hands behind your head,” the Dom ordered. Then he turned to reach for something under the bed.

Sherlock wasn't quite sure what happened next. All he knew was John was behind him and thrusting his wrists into the leather cuffs before buckling them there with a karabiner. “This is right isn't it? You wanted it rough?”

“Rough, yes, but what the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“Do?” John asked. “You're not supposed to do anything but take what I give you and say 'Thank you, Sir,' when all is said and done.” With that, the Dom pushed his sub, face first, down onto the bed. He plunged downward with his hand, stroking along Sherlock's perineum and up between his arse cheeks.

Sherlock trembled in anticipation. John had never sounded so forceful; so commanding, was this what punishment was going to be like? He clenched his fists in the cuffs and thought he'd try his luck in making this a tad easier on himself. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by the duvet where John pressed his head. It was clear enough for John to either take it or leave it.

John took it greedily, letting his finger linger over Sherlock's hole. He pressed in with the lightest touch, not using enough pressure to penetrate him, but enough to imply a threat.

The detective gasped, then bit down on the duvet to keep from speaking. Surely John would use lube. Yes, he would, Sherlock quickly deduced. John would never hurt him, not really. The doctor loved him too much. But then again this was a completely new aspect to their relationship, he didn't know what the punishment side of it was going to be like. He part wished he had chosen to talk first, at least then he'd know where he stood. John could quite easily prepare him without lube. It would take a lot longer because despite not being sure how far he was willing to go, permanently hurting him had to be off limits, surely?

“You're like me, aren't you, boy?” John grabbed the lube, making sure not to let Sherlock see. “You like a bit of danger, living on the edge.” The detective tensed beneath him and his hole clenched tight under the pad of the Dom's finger. He pressed just a bit harder, feeling the barest tip of his finger dip into the dark pucker. “How's this for danger? Is your adrenaline flowing?”

The detective's head moved from side to side into the duvet. “There's dangerous and then there's damaging,” Sherlock panted. He bit his lip so as to not to make any further noise.

John couldn't believe how trusting Sherlock was, even now. If there had been any true fear, the detective would have fought him off. He opened the lube, one-handed, with a 'snick'. At the sound, he could feel his sub relax beneath him. “Did you truly believe I would hurt you?” John asked as he dribbled a bit of lube just above his finger that hadn't left the detective's hole.

“Well, this is punishment, I didn't know what to think… I was expecting you to hurt me, but I knew it wouldn't be permanent.”

“I wouldn't hurt you like that,” the doctor said as he gently pushed in a single digit. “Not unless you asked me to.”

Sherlock sighed at the feel of John's finger inside him - it wriggled and pressed against his inner walls. “More please, sir,” he mumbled into the duvet. He wanted to feel the stretch of more fingers inside him. John gladly obliged, pushing in a second finger.

“Just for comparative purposes and so I can open a new room in my Mind Palace, is this punishment?” He moved his arse slightly so John's fingers went where he wanted. Immediately, the fingers disappeared and Sherlock whined. He tried to look around, but the Dom's hand was holding his head steady, gripping his hair. “John!” The doctor tightened his grip in the dark curls.

“I think you've forgotten something, boy. I'm not going to let you come.”

Oh, Sherlock thought, there was that. He wrestled with the cuffs that were holding his arms behind him and John chuckled darkly. “This is going to be entirely for my pleasure, not yours. In fact, you'll be lucky if you get to come in the next week.”

He struggled, trying to peer over his shoulder again; make an argument, but all he achieved was him getting pushed face first back into the bed. It seemed the doctor didn't want him talking anymore, let alone arguing. The next thing he knew, John's cock was sliding into him. While that was indeed very nice, the doctor was being infuriating. John had perfect aim, and not just with a gun, so the fact that he had entirely missed Sherlock's prostate was clearly no coincidence. Much to the sub's annoyance, John kept on missing it. The younger man tried to wriggle a bit and get the sensation that he wanted, only for the doctor to stop moving.

“What did I just say?” John barked.

Sherlock actually flinched at that, but didn't offer up a response. No, that would be too easy.

John wasn't happy with the lack of response and grabbed the chain linking the cuffs, he yanked his arms up so they were forced out and back.

Sherlock muffled a yell into the duvet, and John yanked his head back by the curls. “Eh?”

“You said it was for your pleasure. Not mine. John.” The pressure on his neck was increased. “Sir!”

“Damn straight,” John said as he started moving again, his thrusts slow and measured.

Sherlock wanted desperately to rut against the bedclothes, but forced himself not to move. How had he got into this position again? Oh, yes. There had been the thing about talking and listening and then he had shot off his mouth with a challenge. “Sir?” he asked.

His Dom stopped for a moment at his sub's diffident tone. “Go ahead.”

“When we talk, I promise to listen.”

“I'll believe that when I see it,” the doctor said with a huff. He thrust in again, missing Sherlock's prostate with a contented hum.

Sherlock closed his eyes, John's grip on his hair still tight. He could see what the Dom meant now, about this being punishment. He knew for a fact that it wasn't his prostate being deliberately avoided that made it sink home, but that didn't mean he did know why he suddenly sagged. His cock lost a touch of its hardness and his wrists stopped fighting, going slack in the cuffs.

John was lost to sensation by this point, his body chasing its impending orgasm. Just a few more thrusts and he was coming, shooting hot and slick into Sherlock. He braced himself to keep from collapsing on his sub and let himself fall to the side. Reaching a hand out, he swept dark curls away from Sherlock's face. His heart stuttered when he saw tears leaking from the detective's eyes.

The first thing that ran through John's mind was that he'd just done that without Sherlock's consent. John glanced at his cock and saw it flagging significantly.

The detective lifted his head and faced the other way, remaining up on his knees, his hands still limp in the cuffs behind him. His breath hitched as he let out a shaky sob. “Thank you, Sir.”

John sat up, not knowing what to say. He hadn't been so confused since that first 'Afghanistan or Iraq'. “I don't understand,” he confessed.

Smiling through his tears, Sherlock leaned toward John, clearly wanting to be held. The doctor obliged by wrapping his arms around him. It was a bit awkward, as Sherlock's wrists were still cuffed, but he seemed to like it.

“You care about me,” he declared. “Enough to give me this, to correct me. You wanted to be sure I listen to you and I will. I promise.” The last was spoken into the curve of John's neck.

John let out a shaky sigh of relief. “Thank fuck for that, you git.”

Sherlock pulled back enough for his grey-green eyes to search the doctor's face.

“The fact that you're upset because you think you hurt me says it all.”

The Dom didn't even bother to ask how Sherlock had leaped to the right conclusion. He reached for the cuffs but the sub shook his head.

“I like them, sir. Please.”

John worried about keeping Sherlock's arms pulled back for so long. His own shoulder would never stand for it.

The detective bit his lip. “I'll let you know if they get uncomfortable, sir.”

With a smile, John placed a kiss on the younger man's forehead. “It's John, now, Sherlock,” he said gently. Sherlock settled against him once again and John enjoyed the glow of the moment. He didn't forget about the cock cage, but that could wait for a while yet.


	2. Learning What He Needs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginnings of negotiation

“A nice stroll you said. You also said Greg wasn't at work today.”

“John-”

“No, Sherlock, you deliberately made out to humiliate him. Again!”

“What? No, John. That wasn't my intention.” Sherlock winced as calloused fingers tightened on the back of his neck.

“Sir, I intended to annoy my brother, not humiliate Lestrade.”

“Yet, you still managed it, didn’t you?” the doctor asked with a hiss.

“I... If I did, it was completely by accident.” Sherlock looked genuinely confused for a moment, then a look of realisation came over him. “I understand! It's the 'pet' comment that you're upset about.” The detective dropped to his knees, not caring who might be watching. “It never occurred to me that Greg might be embarrassed by such a thing, not when I am proud to belong to you, sir.”

John pulled him sharply back to his feet by the nape of his neck. “Do you think I'm stupid?” He hissed lowly. He shoved him in the direction of Baker Street and then proceeded to pull him by his scarf.

“John- what-”

“Shut up!” His voice was low so they wouldn't be overheard.

Sherlock huffed out a breath of frustration. Granted, he dissembled often in the name of The Work and, more manipulatively, to get what he wanted from others. He dug his heels in. “No, John. No! Not this time!” He was shouting at his Dom and didn’t even care. “You may be more intelligent than most, but right now, you're not acting like it.” The detective actually turned his back on John for a moment before whirling back around. “I meant what I said.”

“So the simple fact you deduced to me Greg wasn't at work today, lying I might add, and also conveniently wanting to go for a walk when you get a cab half a mile up the street was because you wanted to annoy your brother. One: in what way is that better? Two: you are never wrong when you deduce and 3: you had absolutely no way of knowing Mycroft would be there and don't even think of telling me you deduced it because that's bollocks.”

“I- John I-” he sighed and his shoulders deflated. Sherlock kicked at the pathway dejectedly. “He told me he, they, would be there. Mycroft wanted to give Greg a chance to say thank you.”

“And you couldn't have told me that because…?”

“I was afraid you'd say no.”

Now, it was John's turn to sigh. “So, like every other toddler in the world, you decided not to ask.”

Sherlock stopped suddenly and stamped his foot. “I am not a toddler!”

“How is stamping your foot and refusing to talk like a civilised human not acting like a toddler?”

“I'm taller than you!” He spat back.

“You know Sherlock, I was joking when I said you needed to be taught some manners, but maybe I shouldn't have been.” Sherlock glared at him as he continued. John let him hang there in suspense for a moment before he barked out a fond laugh. “'How not to act like a toddler: beginning lessons in adulthood for consulting gits.' That would be you, Sherlock, the consulting git, that is.” At the sight of the detective's bottom lip popping out, John lost his composure and fell into gales of helpless laughter. The people passing them on the pathway began to give them a wide berth.

Sherlock clearly wasn't amused. He straightened slightly and stormed off up the path back towards Baker Street. John was so infuriating! Why did he always get treated like a child?

When John caught him up his glare wasn't one Sherlock wanted to mess with. “You're a brat,” he said. He'd caught him up right outside 221. Sherlock just ignored him and slid his key in the hole, he didn't bother holding it for the Dom just ran upstairs, being careful to stamp on every one just to be that tad more annoying. The tips of John's ears had gone red, as had his vision. He loved his mad detective/toddler/brat to no end, but sometimes the doctor's temper got the best of him. This threatened to be one of those times.

“John, dear,” came Mrs. Hudson's tentative words. “I know he tries your patience, something dreadful, but he doesn't mean to. Don't be too hard on him.”

The doctor pasted a smile on his face, there was no reason to upset their landlady. “Ta. I'll try to keep that in mind.” He headed up the stairs, completely convinced that Sherlock damned well did mean to try his patience. His sub veritably lived for it. John ran up to his old room and poked his head in, then checked their bedroom. He systematically checked all the rooms, but there had been no point, Sherlock had just come straight up and thrown himself on the sofa, his back the only part of him visible. “Sherlock Holmes!” He barked.

“Go away,” he mumbled into the couch.

“Nope. Not happening,” John declared, clamping down on his anger. “What is it with you anyway?” He loomed over Sherlock. It should have been impossible for a man of his height to pull off, but John did it admirably. “Do you want to be punished?”

Sherlock hid himself further in the back of the sofa.

“Well, if that's it,” the Dom walked over and sat in his chair, “too bad. I'm not obliging you.” John picked up his latest novel and pretended to read. He could almost feel it when Sherlock craned his head around and peeked at him.

“Who would want to be punished?”

“An attention seeking brat.” The replied was said through the book.

Growling with frustration Sherlock grabbed his coat, fought his way into it and then slammed his door on the way out; tantrum well underway.

John refused to be baited. If Sherlock wanted to kick off in a strop, let him. He wouldn't worry about him at all. Nope, not one little bit. 12 hours later, the doctor found himself contemplating calling Mycroft. He stared at his mobile, indecisive. That's when his phone rang. The caller ID showed 'unknown number'. “Mycroft,” John began, only to be cut off.

“Doctor Watson,” Anthea said, sounding slightly amused, “I believe I've found something you misplaced.”

He glanced at the clock it had just gone 8 and sighed. “I'll be right there.” And hung up. Then he realised he didn't know where she was and rang back.

Not 10 minutes later saw John arriving at an innocuous looking building. He looked around briefly and found Anthea just in front of it. “Doctor Watson,” she said pleasantly.

John didn't have time for this. “What's going on?”

“I turned up when the alarm went off, I found this.” She pushed open the already ajar door and the doctor followed her in.

The room was massive, filled with lots of different equipment and bondage gear, but none of it was on the shelves; it was all over the floor. The reason: his detective curled up in the corner. “Boy?” John called, “Sherlock?”

The detective curled in tighter on himself and let out a small snuffle. John crouched down next to him and coaxed one arm free from where Sherlock had it wrapped around himself. The detective's hand was smeared with blood. So was his face. For one brief moment, John feared that his sub had been severely hurt while wandering the streets of London, perhaps he had been involved in a scuffle. On closer examination, and much to the doctor's relief, the source of the blood was a superficial cut on Sherlock's cheek.

“Care to tell me what happened?” John asked, knowing it had something to do with the chaos in the room.

Sherlock didn't answer, just wrapped himself tighter in his coat.

John tried a different approach. “Where are we?”

“This place is Mycroft's,” Sherlock choked out. He hid his face in his jacket, and it managed to wipe away most of the blood. The cut wouldn't even need medical attention, it was barely a graze. John didn't know whether to offer comfort or be angry with him for sulking off in the first place. On the one side he was getting rather angry with his behaviour, on the other he obviously needed a calm figure to get him out of this. John decided on temporary comfort until they were back at 221B, then the anger.

“Okay, love, let's get you up,” John urged, intentionally using the softer pet name. He snaked his hand under Sherlock's arm and around his back, lifting.

The detective let himself be coaxed to his feet, but when John urged him towards the door, he hesitated. “I'm an idiot,” he declared dejectedly. “Yesterday, you said we needed to talk and then I distracted you. I shouldn't have done.” Sherlock looked down at his feet. “I'm... confused about what I want.”

That admission of confusion, more than anything, assured John that his decision in favour of comfort was definitely the right one, for now. Sherlock was silent in the car on the way back. Anthea informed them that Mycroft knew and Sherlock had growled at that.

“Upstairs, on the sofa,” John ordered. Sherlock nodded dopily and sloped off. When John placed the cup of tea in his hands, he didn't respond, he appeared to be in shock. “First things first,” the doctor started. “Why did you trash Mycroft's little den?”

Sherlock's eyes narrowed in confusion. “Did I?” he asked, dazedly. He shook his head, trying to clear it. “Of course I did, or you wouldn't have asked that question.” Slowly, the detective brought his hands up to rub at his eyes. “I suppose I was angry with Mycroft. It's his fault that I got in trouble, after all.” The detective fell over on his side, laying on the sofa like a rag doll.

“Wait, what did you just say?”

John's tone penetrated Sherlock's cloud of self-pity and he flinched. “My fault. It was my fault... sir.” The detective closed his eyes, knowing that he had cocked up everything, starting with the excursion to torment Mycroft.

“Hang on… what?”

“I got in trouble for not asking to go to Scotland Yard.”

“Ok. How is it Mycroft's fault?”

“He's my brother.”

“That's not answered my question Sherlock,” John's tone had changed like a flick of a switch.

Sherlock glanced up at the concerned voice of the doctor turning to frustration. “Everything is always Mycroft's fault.”

“It's really not,” John admonished.

“Yes, it is. Just ask him! He controls everything. If there's a war, he has his fingers in it. Is the traffic bad? He's been playing with the traffic lights so he can get somewhere 'expeditiously'. Am I in trouble? It's his fault.”

“Your behaviour is your own responsibility.”

“Can't be,” Sherlock grumbled. “I'm a sociopath. As such, I don't know the definition of the word.”

“You know, Sherlock, for an incredibly intelligent man you are incredibly dumb.”

Sherlock sat bolt upright. “I am not dumb!” He hissed.

“Either that or you enjoy talking bollocks. For once, Mycroft has backed off, he's not bugging you he's not nagging you, the surveillance has disappeared. The one time he is nowhere near you blame him, well enough is enough!”

“What are you going to do, throw me over your knee like a little boy and give me a little spanking? Or are you going to teach me 'the manners' you were adamant about earlier? Now who's talking bollocks?!”

“No. It's worse than that. I'm going to make you think.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I always think, John.”

“Yes, but you are going to hate this. This involves thinking about our relationship.” The doctor crossed his arms emphatically. “Since you are the one that wanted to expand our dynamic, you need to tell me what you expect. So, I'm going to go fix us something to eat. When I get back, you're going to tell me if this is really what you want. If it is, then I need to know what behaviours I'm responsible for,” he gave him a stern look. “And I expect you to name at least three punishments.”

Sherlock paused for a moment and took all of that in. He watched John disappear. “Hang on three punishments?!” He followed John into the kitchen, his tantrum clearly hadn't dispersed. “What the hell have I done?”

“Apart from lying, running away, blaming Mycroft... Need I continue?” John asked sarcastically. “But this isn't about that. I know what you like, Sherlock. Now I need to know what you hate.”

“Why would I tell you what I hate if you're going to do it to me?”

“Because that's what punishment is about. Now go and sit down.”

“But-”

“Now, Sherlock!” John barked.

With a huff and a glare at the Dom the detective disappeared into the sitting room, intent on sulking once again. John had an idea. “If you're going to sulk, I'm going to give you a reason.” The detective was perched on his chair, glaring like a vulture. He didn't deign to give a response. John pulled a key from his pocket. Sherlock's eyes tracked it as the doctor let it dangle from its chain. It was the key to the cock cage John had put him in the day before. “I think I'll just leave that cage on until you decide to cooperate,” the Dom smirked, then added musingly, “I could give this key to Mycroft or Greg.”

“You wouldn't dare!” He spat. Sherlock was struggling to work out why he was so wound up and realised that he wasn't helping to reduce the doctor's anger. But he couldn't help himself.

“I'm serious Sherlock! Choose right now because I am way beyond angry and you are in trouble!”

The detective thought for a moment with John staring at him. He knew whatever he did now he wasn't about to make things worse. Sighing, he pushed himself off the chair and fell to his knees in front of the Dom, he dropped his head. “I'm sorry, sir.”

That sudden capitulation came as a surprise. John had thought his sub would be at it all night, sulking and acting out in childish display. He couldn't help running his fingers through ebony curls as he pondered the turn of events. “I take it you still want to do this, then.”

Sherlock pulled his head free and looked up. “Are you mad?”

“Damn straight.”

“Will you be mad, whatever my answer?”

“Damn straight.”

Sherlock sighed, his earlier predictions were true. “Well?”

He lowered his head again. “Yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir,” John repeated. “That's good to know.” His fingers tightened absently in Sherlock's curls. “And the behaviours?”

The detective sighed, then answered reluctantly, “My inconsideration for others.” He had almost said 'idiots', but stopped himself. “My self-destructive tendencies, and...”

“Yes, boy?”

“And how I treat the people that care about me.” Sherlock whispered that last. Yes, he admitted to himself, he did tend to run roughshod over everyone, and yes, Mycroft had started treating him more like a responsible adult. It was time he started acting like one.

John didn't say anything, just tightened his grip and tugged him towards the corner. Sherlock gathered that he would be spending a rather long time in this area of their flat. “Sir?”

“What, boy?” John's tone was back to strong and stern; Sherlock knew he wasn't going to get off lightly.

“What happens now?”

“Ever heard of being under house arrest?”

Sherlock tensed at that, his whole back going rigid. “Kneeling in the corner!” The detective shouted. John blinked at him in confusion, so Sherlock hastened to add, “For punishment. You wanted three punishments. That's one.”

John shook his head. “You're still under house arrest.”

“I know, sir, and that's two. Three's, well...” He glanced down between his legs, thinking of the cock cage hidden beneath his clothing. “Enforced abstinence. You were spot on, Sir.”

“Don't think it's that easy, boy.”

“What?” He snapped a bit too harshly than he meant.

John gripped his ear and pulled his neck back at an awkward angle. “Doesn't hurt to be polite, does it, you brat?”

Sherlock huffed through the pain in his pinched ear. “No, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“I said pick three punishments, don't act dumb. You need to pick one more, because keeping your cock in that cage is a controlling measure not a punishment.”

“You try it, see if you don't think it's a punishment,” Sherlock grumbled petulantly.

“This is about you, not me. Now, pick.”

“Caning, sir.” Sherlock knew he would hate having that done to him.

John's eyebrow shot up. Now, that had been unexpected.

“You want me to cane you?”

“No. But that's precisely the point, isn't it?”

“Turn around. Nose to the wall.”

Sighing Sherlock shifted around and John watched him.

It took a matter of minutes for Sherlock to bring his hands up enough for him to get into his mind palace and as soon as he saw it he acted. He snatched both his hands from the air and pulled them around behind him. “This is punishment, not a chance for you to stack shelves in your head!”

“John, sir. May I ask a question?”

The Dom hesitated for a moment, then said, “Yes.”

“You know I wouldn't admit to this lightly, but... I'm scared.” The moment dragged out tense between them. “So, will you... Would you... I can accept punishment if I know you'll hold me when it's over. Please? I'll try to be good.”

Not prepared to just let his arms go, but more than willing to convince him he nodded even though he couldn't see. “I will never leave you after punishment, Sherlock. That would be a bit not good. A bit not good indeed. But don't for a minute think that acting scared will get you out of anything.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“You always bring up this sort of thing when you've just been caught doing something you know you shouldn't be doing.”

“But-”

“No, Sherlock, you're forgetting,” he gave his arm a bit of a tug. “I know you. Better than you know yourself. If you're scared, that's fine, it's nothing to be ashamed of and I will never leave you, especially after something when you'd need me most. But this is not something you can use to get out of me being pissed off at you.”

He nodded. “I understand. Sir.”

Sherlock's mobile rang and he bit his tongue to keep from asking to answer it. I minute later, John's mobile rang. The Dom let go of his sub to dig in his pocket. When he fetched his mobile, he glanced at the screen, it showed 'Number Withheld'. Jabbing at it with one finger, he answered it. It was Anthea again.

“Mr. Holmes sent me over. I've brought something you might find useful from his play den, a nice thick cane.”

“Oh, that's thoughtful,” John commented. “I have my hands rather full at the moment. Would you mind bringing it up?”

There was a clear smile in her voice as she answered, “Of course, Doctor Watson. I'll be right up.”

The PA hung up and Sherlock's phone was still ringing.

“Come in!” John called at the knock on the flat door. The doctor took hold of Sherlock's arms again; he wasn't giving him an inch. When the detective tried to glance over his shoulder John pushed him forward and he grunted as his face hit the wall. “Thanks ever so much, Anthea, in the kitchen would be lovely.”

“See you later,” she said as she disappeared, her mobile ever-present.

In the meantime Sherlock's phone had rung off and had started up again.

“Put your hands behind your head,” John growled in his boy’s ear.

Sherlock complied, still leaning against the wall. John routed through his pocket and answered his phone too.

“Sherlock!” Came a rather distinctive yell. The detective flinched at the sound of his brother's voice, glad that it was John that had answered it.

“Hello, Mycroft.” John couldn't help his grin. It was rare to hear the British Government sound so discomfited.

Mycroft's voice instantly smoothed. “Ah, Doctor Watson. I trust you've received your delivery.

“It's John,” the doctor corrected, “and, yes, Anthea just left. I'll be putting your gift to good use shortly. Would you like to yell at Sherlock?”

“Oh, no, John. I'm sure you'll make a much greater impression than I would.”

“I don't know, I'm sure he would like to speak to you, wouldn't you, boy?” The last was growled at his boy.

A rather timid “Yes, sir,” was the response.

“I'll hand you over.” He moved the phone to his ear and Sherlock went to hold it. “Err, no, boy, keep your hands where they are, I'll hold it.”

“Hello, brother dear.” Sherlock had been aiming for nonchalance and perhaps a bit of cheekiness. What he hit was subdued plaintiveness.

To his credit, Mycroft didn’t comment on his brother's uncharacteristic tone. “Baby brother, I am most displeased by your actions.”

“I don't know what I was thinking. I was just so frustrated. You know how I get.” Sherlock hesitated. “I must apologise.” He visualised the tip of his brother's head.

“Apology accepted,” Mycroft said gravely. “And, Sherlock. When John finally lets you out of the flat, the mess you made will be waiting. See to it.”

“I will, Mycroft, I promise.”

“Your voice sounds echoed baby brother. Everything ok?”

Sherlock couldn't believe his brothers restraint, he'd just trashed his most treasured room, even more treasured now Greg wanted to give it a go and he was asking if he was alright. “I'm fine, Myc, I was just-” he cut off when the phone was lifted from his ear and John continued.

“He was just facing a wall, I thought he might find it a lot less boring than interacting with me like a normal human.”

“Very well, Goodbye, John.”

“Now what to do with you?” John hissed in his ear. Sherlock braced himself. “Go clear off the kitchen table.” John released his sub and backed away.

Sherlock didn’t want to enter the kitchen, that's where the cane was, but he had asked for this. He edged close to the other room, stopping in the doorway. One glance over his shoulder at John, and his shoulders slumped. “Yes, sir.”

He began to move his equipment off the table, resolutely ignoring the cane, but when he'd clattered about for long enough he couldn't ignore the cane much more. He wrapped his fingers around it and looked around the kitchen, there had to be a place he could hide it, John didn't need to use it yet, he hadn't been that bad, the whole not leaving the flat thing and the corner was no doubt enough of a punishment for one evening. All he needed to do was move it; out of sight, out of mind. He leant over the sink, about to slide it down the back.

“You just can't help yourself can you?” John snarled from the door.

Sherlock spun around still wielding the cane.

“Sir, I-”

“Save it!” He snatched it from Sherlock's grip and pointed back to the corner. “Wait there while I finish cooking, if your nose is more than an inch from the wall when I come out, they'll be trouble.”

“Yes, sir.” With a lowered head, the sub slumped passed and when John looked up, he was in his position in the corner.

John's anger faded for a brief moment as he watched Sherlock trying not to fidget where he was stood. He found himself walking to stand behind him and dropping a kiss on the base of his neck. When he did, he noticed a dramatic change in Sherlock's posture. The younger man softened and relaxed into his position.

The detective had fallen into a strange head-space, one that he hadn't experienced before. It was John's gentle kiss that had done it. It seemed to wipe away his need to struggle against what was coming, which was a relief. If the doctor thought he should be caned, then so be it. Somewhere deep inside, he knew that this was a temporary state. He would fight and resist the next time punishment became an issue and John would have to push him, strain against him, to get him back into this head-space.


	3. Getting What Hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets punished.

Sherlock didn't remember John forcing him onto the kitchen table, but he must have done, because he was now face down with his cock pressed beneath him and the doctor's hand holding him in place. He also didn't recall at what point he lost all his clothes, but they were gone now and he was cold. The first thing that crossed the detective's mind was that the Dom had tricked him. Being all nice and cosy over in the corner and then suddenly his head was in pliant and obedient mode and he was face down on a hard wooden surface, John's hand pressing him down by the nape of his neck.

“Where are your leather cuffs?” The Dom asked.

That had been a direct question, so Sherlock was expected to answer. His options were clear: tell the truth or lie like a pro. He lied. “I don't know, sir.” The unusually hard impact of his Dom's hand on his arse told him that he had chosen the wrong option.

“Let's try that again. Where are your leather cuffs?” When he got no response for a second time, he landed another smack on his sub's pale, plush arse.

The detective realised his mistake. He should have told John where he had hidden them immediately, then he could have made his getaway when his Dom released him to fetch the cuffs. “They're in the fridge, behind the lungs.”

“I suppose you think I'm going to go over there and let you go long enough for you to leg it?”

If it wasn't for the circumstances Sherlock would have admired the doctor's deduction skills. Instead, he tried to shake his head, which only resulted in John pressing it into the table harder. “Now you, you little shit,” he hissed, “are going to cooperate with me. You do what I say, when I say. And you will not hesitate or deviate, is that understood?” Sherlock offered no response and John paused slightly, worried. Was all of this with his entire consent? He released him slightly and when he didn't fight immediately he knew he was wrong, he was just being a brat, no more than that, the term a little shit was more than appropriate. He grabbed his arm and wrenched it up his back, his other hand still holding down his head. “I said, 'is that understood'?” He barked.

“Yes, sir!”

“And you're not going to fight me?”

“No, sir.”

The doctor used his grip on his brats arm to push him over towards the fridge. He opened the door, but wasn't putting his hand in there. He may have been a surgeon, but that didn't mean he was going to touch pig lungs. “Reach in, grab them. Then, once I've cuffed you, you are going to explain why they were in there in the first place and why those lungs that I told you to get rid of 3 days ago are still there.”

Sherlock swallowed audibly in response. “Humans and pigs share approximately 90% of the same genes,” Sherlock explained. “It's conceivable that humanised pig lungs could be used for transplant into humans. I was exploring that possibility.” John pushed against him in warning and he gasped out, “I needed both sets of lungs.”

“Despite the fact I had told you to either take them to Bart’s and play or get rid of them? You kept them! Now turn around, face the wall and put your hands against it.” John settled the cuffs around his wrists and then clipped them together with a Karabiner from his pocket. He grabbed his curls and dragged him back to the table. John picked up the cane that he had placed on the surface in front of him. “I wasn't sure about this before, but now I think you're definitely right. I think six strokes with the cane should suffice for a start.” The Dom was slightly worried, as he had never used the cane before, but, dammit, there had to be a first time. This was going to be it.

“For a start?”

“Damn right! Bend over, stick your arse out.”

“Sir, please… reconsider…”

He gripped him by the nape of the neck and pulled him upright glaring up at him with his captain's no nonsense glare. “Why should I?”

Sighing Sherlock slipped free and then laid his chest down on the table, his arse out.

“If you're expecting praise, you'll be sadly disappointed.”

“No, sir.”

John eyed his sub's arse thoughtfully, He knew enough about the use of a cane to know he should keep it level as he struck. He also knew that he shouldn't allow his blows to crisscross. Those thoughts in mind, he pulled back and held the cane in the air, then swung it a few times to get a feel for it. After about five false starts, he came down hard, the crack of the blow ringing out in the flat.

Sherlock positively yowled, sounding like nothing so much as a dying cat. That had bloody hurt! And not only did it hurt, it caught him by surprise as John had been wielding it and waving it about for a while.

“Count then, boy!” John yelled loudly in his ear.

Sherlock flinched. “O-one,” he stuttered.

“Try again. Without the stumbling like a baby.”

“One. One, sir.”

John just nodded, avoiding the chance to praise him again. Sherlock didn't need praise right now he needed a good thrashing a thorough bollocking and to submit completely so he was pliable like clay. John would not stop before that happened, however long it took.

The next blow came down and this time the detective stamped his foot against the floor. “Fuck, John! Two, sir.”

Despite the fact that his own arse ached in sympathy for his sub, John lifted his hand to administer the next blow. When it fell, Sherlock scrabbled, almost climbing onto the table in a mindless effort to escape the source of the pain. “Sherlock!” He barked. His boy tensed and slid back so he had both feet flat on the floor. “Count!”

“Three, sir,” his voice still managed to shake despite his protests.

“You will keep still for the last 3 Sherlock or God help me, I will double it.”

“No! No, sir! Sorry, sir. Please, no!” Sherlock trembled, not certain that he could keep from moving at the next blow. When it came, he counted out, “Four, sir!” then he let loose with a long string of expletives.

Considering the circumstances, John decided to allow it. He pulled back, then hesitated. “Colour?”

The sub knew he couldn't say 'red', he really had no reason to, but he absolutely could not say 'green'. “Yellow, sir,” he said, shakily.

John transferred the cane to his other hand then reached out to stroke the four raised welts. They radiated so much heat that he let out a low whistle.

Sherlock's hands clenched into fists behind him and he closed his eyes, determined to get this over with. “Green, sir.”

The last two came down in quick succession and somehow Sherlock managed to only rock forward on his toes slightly. “Five and six, sir,” he whispered, his head fell forward hard onto the table and his cock was no longer rock hard, the cane was nothing but pain, no room for pleasure.

Ever the doctor, John ran his hands over the welts checking for bruising. He couldn't help but think that normally all he would want to do would be to hug the sobbing detective but he was still anger. Aftercare would come, of course it would, just not now. “Stand up!”

Shakily, the sub obeyed, hissing air through his teeth as his punished skin stretched and pulled.

Just because Sherlock's arse was striped from the application of the cane didn’t mean that John would let him off house arrest. The doctor reached out and propelled his sub towards the living room. “Now, Boy, fetch your mobile. You have a call to make.” At the look of confusion on Sherlock's face, he realised that his sub's mind had gone offline. The younger man was clearly not thinking. “You have to explain to Greg why you won't be working cases for two weeks.”

“But, sir, you've caned me isn't that enough?”

“Hell no. Now go and find your phone and for once swallow your pride and obey me!”

The detective nodded jerkily and headed into the bedroom where his discarded suit jacket was.

John watched him go. He still wasn't pliable and soft, so to speak, but he would be. He would have Sherlock make the call to Greg, then he would change his approach a bit. He considered the situation and devised a plan. Since the cock cage wouldn't be coming off his sub any time soon, a milking was in order. Sherlock would hate that. After that, he would bugger the detective into the mattress and leave him completely unsatisfied. Maybe he would be pliable after that.

Sherlock appeared sheepishly in the doorway of the bedroom. “I can't find my phone.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow even as the detective reached around to rub at his heated flesh. “Come here,” he ordered. Sherlock stumbled over, unsteady on his feet. “On your knees.”

His legs folded beneath him and John pressed his own phone into his hands. “You're not getting out of it, boy.”

Sherlock stared at the phone. He hated talking on it at the best of times. “Couldn't I just text?” He knew the answer even before the question was out of his mouth, so he dialled the DI. Thankfully, Greg didn’t answer. “Lestrade, don't bother texting me about cases for two weeks. I'll be unavailable.”

John watched him ring off. He narrowed his eyes, his sub's voice had been far too steady… it must have been voicemail. “Perhaps we'll try that again later. Right now, I want you in the bedroom.”

“The bedroom? Judging by the fact you're still an angry sod I'm guessing I'm still being punished. What could you possibly punish me with in the bedroom?” Before John answered he heard a ringing from the bedroom, well that had to be Sherlock's mobile seeing as his was in his hand. Sherlock's shoulders hunched as he realised he'd been caught lying. Again.

“You know what? I'll take your phone for now,” John stated matter-of-factly. “You can have it back when you're off house arrest. Now, lay down on the bed, face first.”

The thought of arguing did cross the detective's mind, but John was mad enough and if he was planning this house arrest thing for 2 weeks he did not fancy his chances of getting out of this in one piece if he continued to wind him up. He clambered onto the bed, glad it was face first so he could let some air get to his bruised behind. A spreader bar made an appearance, doing its job quite well. Sherlock couldn't bring his legs together and he was open to whatever John wanted to do to him. Sherlock buried his head into the pillow. “Are you going to explain exactly what's about to happen?” It was muffled, but his tone was clearly frustrated and John knew it.

“Well, boy. That cage won't be coming off for some time. What can you deduce from that?”

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder. “You're mad at me.”

“Quite right too, don't you think?”

He nodded, turning away again.

“Let's start with you having a bit of respect shall we?”

“Yes, sir.”

John fetched a towel and lube. He tapped his sub's hips and Sherlock lifted them awkwardly. When the towel was placed beneath him, he realised what was coming and melted into the bed defeated. The snick of the cap on the lube only served to reinforce his realisation, because there was no way John was going to make him feel good. What was coming next would be clinical and perfunctory. The use of surgical gloves shouldn't have been a surprise and John clearly didn't want to drag this out as one finger was pushed in to the second knuckle immediately. It was a matter of seconds before the second finger joined it. He knew patience would be required, this wasn't a quick process, so he set about his work in a methodical fashion.

Sherlock moaned and whined the whole time, knowing this would only end in an unsatisfying release without orgasm. But he had to try. “Please, sir. I'm sorry. Please let me come, not this.” His fists clenched behind him and he struggled, trying to pull free to no avail.

“You seriously thinking I'm going to let you come after today? You'll be lucky if you come this week.”

“Sir, please-”

Frustrated with Sherlock's insistent whinging he forced a ball gag between his teeth and tightened the strap up on the back of his head. Sherlock realised that he was crying. Had he cried over the cane? He couldn't remember. He just wanted this to be over. He wanted to be held and comforted, but would John give him that or had he... His body quivered and he felt an odd sensation. Sherlock whined around the gag as his semen dribbled from his flaccid cock. There was nothing enjoyable about it, but perhaps it would satisfy his Dom in some way. Please let it satisfy him. It seemed like forever, but all Sherlock was aware of was the pain in his over sensitive cock as it attempted to harden again only to be restricted by the cage. Even if this satisfied John, the next two weeks would be impossible. He was sure to mess up again because he would be bored. He wasn't bored now.

John was determined to do the job properly, so he continued his work until another dribble of semen was produced and he milked out every last drop. Satisfied that there was nothing left, he withdrew his fingers and snapped off the glove. Taking a step back, he waited for Sherlock to move. The younger man didn't. John fetched the lube and slicked his cock, then climbed on top of his sub. He whispered into his ear, “Now that you're completely empty and oh so sensitive, I'm going to fuck you into the mattress, boy.”

Sherlock whined. He felt wrung out, and he didn't fancy more stimulation, but at least he would have the comfort of John touching him properly. Except it wasn't quite comfort as John pushed himself in, he'd been hard for a while and was getting impatient for this. He rested his hands either side of his boy, so he wouldn't have to hold his hips and thrust in once, twice. More tears fell into the pillow as Sherlock realised just how angry John was, there was no kisses, no light feathery touches, and the only thing he could think about was his Dom's warm cock inside him.

Sherlock would get the comfort he craved after this. He'd ensure he wasn't hurt and that he wasn't about to 'drop and let him snuggle for a while but that would be it. He was still mad and Sherlock needed to know that. He needed to know what proper punishment was like in order to stray from the humiliating and rude behave be so often fell back on.

John reached his climax, but refrained from calling out his sub's name. He shuddered through it as silently as possible. When he was done, he allowed himself a moment to rest, collapsed on Sherlock's back. Finally, he reminded himself that he had to be responsible. John freed his sub from all bindings and went to fetch a damp flannel, a glass of water, paracetamol, and soothing salve. Sherlock would require all of it. When he returned to the bedroom, it was to find his sub curled in a tight ball on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. Occasionally, the sobs were interspersed with pathetic cries of John's name.

“Get back on the bed, Sherlock,” John said tiredly.

It was surprising that the sub obeyed immediately. He unwound himself and climbed onto the bed. John didn't manage to refrain himself from brushing some sweaty curls back, but that was the extent of his comfort at the moment. He set about wiping the weeping man's cock through the cage.

Sherlock started sucking great gasps of air, his nose going snotty and tears streaming. This was more than pain and frustration.

John looked at him with growing concern. “Boy, can you tell me what's wrong?”

“I can't... I can't...” The sub couldn't seem to get it out past his choking sobs. “I can't stop...” He wailed. “Being bad.”

“You're not 'bad' you can just be a bugger.”

“I've upset you.”

“Yes, you have. But that's what this is about. That's what I'm here for, remember? If you get punished when you’re 'bad' you will learn to avoid those behaviours.” He paused for a minute. “I don't love you any less, Sherlock, you just push me, and at the moment it's all the time.”

Suddenly, Sherlock transformed into a land based octopus and completely enveloped John from head to foot. His lank form wrapped around the Dom so completely, that the older man could barely move. “Don't leave me, sir. Please,” he begged.

“I won't leave you, Sherlock,” he said with conviction. “But you have to learn to do as you are told, the majority of the time it is for your own sake.”

“Yes, sir. I promise.”

John sighed. “Don't make promises you can't keep, Sherlock.”

“I promise to try.”

John nodded once. “Go and put the kettle on.”

Sherlock bit his lower lip, but got up with no protest. Still, he hovered. “Come with?” he asked softly.


	4. Back to the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John decides they need to go back to the beginning.

“No, I'm sure you can manage to make two cups of tea without my help.”

“But-”

“Are you seriously arguing with me already?”

“No, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Sherlock filled, put the kettle on and pulled out two cups. He looked at them morosely, wondering how he could make John understand. The detective wasn't playacting, he felt the need for comfort and he felt it keenly, but he understood that his past behaviour made it difficult for his Dom to see that. He realised it may be a bit of a journey, but he was sure they'd get there. He carried the two mugs through to the bedroom and John looked up from where he'd pulled out his laptop.

John smiled at the detective, but only slightly. “I trust you didn't have too much trouble?”

Sherlock bit back the witty retort. “No, sir.”

John took the mug that Sherlock passed his way and took a sip. He smiled at his sub appreciatively. “This is actually good. Why have I been making it all this time?”

The corner of Sherlock's mouth quirked up. “An irrational fear of poisoning,” he suggested. At John's small laugh, the detective's heart felt lighter, though his arse definitely still ached.

“As it's clear the next two weeks we're going to be spending rather a lot of time together, we're going to start with the basics. But first things first, do you trust me?”

“Always.” The detective responded without hesitation.

“Then you have absolutely no excuse to disobey a direct order.”

“No, sir.”

“So like I said, basics.”

Sherlock shifted from foot to foot, nervously, wondering just what John meant by basics.

The doctor set his laptop aside and ordered his sub to turn around. “Fetch the Arnica cream then come back and lay face first on the bed.” The detective gave a nod and took a single step, only to be stopped by John's voice. “Sherlock! The basics, remember,” the Dom scolded. “When I give an order, I expect it to be acknowledged verbally.”

Sherlock stayed facing away, he couldn't even get that right. Such a simple order- a simple task and he couldn't even manage to-

“Sherlock! I told you to go and get the Arnica cream.” He must have been thinking longer than he realised.

“Ok,” he said hurriedly moving to the bathroom, the look on his Dom's face wasn't one that he wanted to see. When Sherlock returned, cream in hand, he stopped just short of the bed.

John reached out and took his sub by the wrist and pulled him down to the mattress. “'OK' is not a suitable response, boy. Again, basics. What should you have said?”

“Yes, sir. Sir.”

John nodded, hiding a smile at the awkward way in which he went about his answer.

“Now, lay down, face first. Without complaint.”

For the first time that day, Sherlock complied, doing exactly as he was told without argument. The detective realised he hadn't omitted the proper response. John didn't think anything of it as he opened the Arnica cream, but Sherlock did. As a result, a muffled 'Yes, Sir' came out of the surface of the duvet.

John nodded once, to himself obviously, but he had recognised it. He was struggling to make Sherlock out. He wanted this; the full time deal and yet he made it so difficult for the both of them, John doubted that he had any control at all over his mouth or his actions. As John smoothed the cream over his sub's welts, he began to talk. “It's that mouth of yours that gets you in trouble.”

There was another muffled “yes, sir.”

“So glad you agree,” quipped the Dom. “A full-time gag would be impractical, not to mention abusive, so this is what we'll do. For the remainder of the day, anything that you want to say other than a 'Yes, sir' or 'No, sir' will be written down. You will reread it before presenting it to me.” He could almost imagine the detective rolling his eyes. He put a bit of pressure on one of the welts and Sherlock yelped. “That needed an answer Sherlock.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the next few moments passed in silence, the detective relaxed into his Dom's touch. The welts still hurt, but the contact was gentle and his mind settled. He would give almost anything to stretch these moments out. But of course, all good things come to an end eventually. He heard John screw the lid back on the tub and the older man move around the bed. The doctor placed the tub in his hands. “Go and put it away.”

Sherlock pouted into the duvet, but pushed himself up, determined to behave. “Yes, sir.” Oh, this was going to get old. There were already a million things spinning around in his head wanting to be said and he wasn't allowed to give them voice.

John watched his sub bite his tongue as he took the pot and headed back out to the bathroom.

When Sherlock appeared back in the bedroom John was gone and he could hear him clattering around in the kitchen. He sighed and grabbed some clothes, hissing as his trousers rubbed over his arse and distantly wondered if the Dom would be unimpressed with him getting dressed. Sherlock emerged from the bedroom fully clothed. John turned and smiled at him, unphased. There were two plates on the table, complete with sandwiches.

“You don't have to sit, Sherlock, but you need to eat something.” The Dom's voice was gentle yet firm.

The detective clamped his mouth shut on his automatic protest. He wasn't hungry. He wasn't! Sherlock glanced around, there had to be something to write on. It seemed John knew what he was up to because all he did was point at the plate opposite where he'd taken a seat. Sherlock bit his lip as he took a seat, but he just stared at the plate full of food.

“Come on, love, don't just look at your plate.”

The detective nudged the sandwich with one long pale finger, his head bowed. He looked up at John through his lashes, not trying to be coy, but gauging his Dom's determination. It looked like he would have to actually eat something. He sighed and picked up the sandwich, but then just dropped it back on the plate. If he ate anything he'd be sick. He stood up, hiding the hiss, and headed for the bathroom. Maybe going to the toilet would excuse him.

“Where do you think you're going?”

Everything that had happened earlier in the day crashed down on him at the sound of John's harsh words. He crumbled, sinking down and curling in on himself, sobbing and hating himself for it.

The doctor witnessed Sherlock's collapse and something told him that it wasn't an act. He sprang to his feet, knocking his chair over and rushing to his sub's side, taking him into his arms.

Sherlock didn't speak, just sobbed in his Dom's arms.

“What is it Sherlock?”

The detective still didn't speak.

“You have permission to talk until I say otherwise, babe.”

“I'm not amazing anymore,” he sobbed, brokenly. “I'm ordinary.”

“Why are you ordinary? You're anything but.”

“I've been bad. Ordinary people are bad.”

John stroked his hair. “No. Ordinary people are idiots. Isn't that what you often say? Some are bad, some are good, but none of them are as brilliant, incredible and, yes, amazing as my boy.” His voice was soothing even as he was berating himself. “Come on, love. Let's move to the sofa. I think you need to be held and I think I need to hold you, yeah?”

Sherlock wanted nothing more than to cuddle the Dom but he knew he didn't deserve it, it had been less than a few hours since this whole 'in trouble' fiasco had begun, no way had he earned the Dom's forgiveness yet, a cuddle now was as good as a false promise. Now the threat of being sick could be put down to his emotional rollercoaster he wanted to prove to John he could be good. When John let him go so he could stand up, rather than head over to the sofa, he lowered himself back in front of his plate and took a bite from his sandwich. That proved to be a bad idea. No sooner had he swallowed, than his stomach began to heave. He was furious with himself, his body was transport, his to command. The only time he gave it free reign was when it was in John's hands. Sherlock took another bite.

John watched the determination on the younger man's face. “Sherlock stop eating. Go and sit on the sofa.”

Still, Sherlock tried to carry on. John didn't have the heart to berate him, he just grabbed a fist full of hair and dragged his boy to the sofa. He forced him to take a seat, then he sat next to him and held him tightly. “I want you to put my notebook in your pocket, you can use that when you want to speak to me in the future, but for now, let's just cuddle for a while, yeah?”

Sherlock sniffed and nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said softly. The cuddling felt so good. Maybe if he behaved, John would fill the next two weeks with cuddling and the detective wouldn't lose his mind. Sherlock buried his face in his Dom’s shoulder, determined to stay there as long as possible, but then he remembered John said something about starting from the basics and the whole teaching him some manners. He knew he wouldn't get it all right to start with, no matter how hard he tried, all he could was make the most out of this now before John laid down more rules.

No sooner thought than John gave him a nudge, saying, “As lovely as this is, I have to eat something. Do you think you can manage it now? And don't just tell me what you think I want to hear.” Sherlock reached for his notepad, but John stopped him. “A simple yes or no will do.”

He glanced over at the table. “Yes, sir.”

“Go and sit down then.”

Sherlock complied without a word and sat in his seat, gingerly shifting against the hard surface.

“I am going to ring Mycroft in a while, see if he's done with that room I found you in, I was under the impression he wants you to tidy it up again.”

“He was, but I-”

“Ah…” he held his finger up, “Yes or no Sherlock.”

“Yes, sir.” Sherlock wasn't keen on tidying up the mess that he had made, but there were a fair number of interesting toys there. Maybe he would be able to pique John's interest in some of them. The day might not be a total loss after all. The detective managed to eat the rest of his sandwich without complaint and John even smiled at him.

“Go and stand in the corner. I have a phone call to make.”

For once, Sherlock didn't find it difficult to remain still. He went through a mental list of Mycroft's toys, plotting the best way to bring the interesting ones to John's attention.

“Mycroft is going to send a car to pick us up, boy, 20 minutes.”

Sherlock turned around.

“I didn't say you could move.”

The detective tensed, anticipating a further rebuke when none came, he offered an apology. “Sorry, sir.”

“He says whilst you're there you can dust the place too.”

“Yes, sir.”

At the knock on the door, John gave his boy permission to move out of the corner.

Sherlock was thrumming with excitement and didn't bother to hide it as he bounded from the corner. He was halfway through the door when John grabbed him by the nape. The doctor looked at him, long and hard. “You're not planning an escape, are you, boy?”

“Like I'd stand a chance.”

John pushed his head down, putting strain on the backs of his legs.

“I meant no, sir.”

“I bet you did. I hope you've got that notepad because you are not to speak unless it is a yes or no answer, is that all understood or are you too hyped up to understand anything I say.”

“No, sir, it's understood.” Sherlock's voice sounded strained from his position and John kept him like it as he dragged him down the stairs.


	5. Tidying Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes Sherlock to Mycroft's hideaway to make him set things to rights.

John forced Sherlock into the first corner he came across with a growl to stay there. He needed to check around for other routes that Sherlock could do a runner through.

Other than when he had thrown his temper tantrum, it had been years since he had seen Mycroft's secret hideaway and back then, it had been a mere curiosity, nothing to do with him. Now, he wanted to see the place with experienced eyes. He turned his head peeking over his shoulder.

He managed to get a good look about, but as his gaze swung around, he spotted John in the doorway of one of the back rooms, arms folded and looking mightily pissed off. The detective bit his lip and went back to staring at the wall. Yes, he could pretend the wall was interesting. Old wallpaper, a hideous pattern. Surely Mycroft could have chosen something with a better aesthetic. He darted his tongue out and licked it, vinyl, of course, with little texture, that meant it was easily washable. Maybe he could hide it away in his Mind Palace and the next time Mycroft phoned to have a go at him he could make loads of cheap jokes about his hideous choice in wallpaper and maybe, just maybe his older brother would leave him alone. Sherlock glanced down at the carpet in the hope of reaching a similar conclusion about it, but suddenly, his head was being pulled back by his curls. Damn! He'd forgot. He wasn't supposed to...

John hissed in his ear, “Deducing, Sherlock?”

“I um…”

The Dom tugged again. “That wasn't a question that needed your notebook for an answer, boy.”

“No, sir,” he offered instead.

John nodded. “Well, for clearly lying to me, you can stay there for longer. I spotted a kitchen over there.” He locked the door and put the only key in his pocket. He'd chosen Sherlock's clothes so there was no way he had his lock picking kit on him. Not like he would be stupid enough to try that level of disobedience. Not now.

John did make tea, just one cup, but he kept half an eye on his sub the entire time. It was briefly amusing to watch Sherlock try to shut down that great mind of his on his own, but even more satisfying was the knowledge that it would take John to do it.

John sat on one of the few benches around the room that was still upright and watched the back of Sherlock's head. He didn't talk to the younger man until he had drained his tea. He had seen some interesting things as he explored and one item in particular had caught his eye - a humbler. It would be fun to watch Sherlock struggling to straighten out the mess he had made of the place, unable to stand and flushed red with humiliation. He stood up quietly. Any noise would alert his detective to what he was doing or where he was. He stepped over to the kneeling man. “Thinking, boy?!” He yelled in his ear.

Sherlock flinched. John really was good at this, he'd had no idea the doctor was near. A hot thread of arousal ran through him, despite knowing how much trouble he was in.

“Strip,” came the order and Sherlock knew that whatever he did, he would end up losing. Slowly he removed his scarf and shoved it in his pocket, he let his coat fall from his shoulders and it fell in a pile behind him.

“Enough with the teasing!” John snapped. He spun him around and looked straight into his eyes. “Hands behind your head. If you're going to take forever, I'll undress you like a baby.”

That was... not at all an unpleasant prospect. He'd have John's hands on him, at least for a bit. Maybe he could encourage him. He tilted his head down, so that when he looked at his Dom, it would be through his lashes. He knew John liked that. He licked his lips, John liked that too. The doctor was having none of it. He quickly striped Sherlock of his remaining clothes barely letting skin touch skin. He placed the clothes to the side and pulled the now naked sub by the ear to where there was an array of humblers. Sherlock bit his lip nervously.

“I grant you a boon,” John said, tongue in cheek and trying not to laugh at his own choice of phrasing. “You may choose which one I'm going to put on you, but choose wisely.” Sherlock's head snapped over his shoulder and John's grip tightened slightly. “Pick, boy, or I'll do it for you.”

“You're going to make me tidy up in one of those.” It wasn't a question.

“You're being punished, Sherlock,” the doctor said sternly. “This isn't meant to be easy and you're not meant to enjoy it. Safe word now, but that is the only way you'll be getting out of this.”

Sherlock's eyes widened as he examined his brother's extensive collection of humblers.

“And that is going to be 11 words that you owe me later,” John noted.

Sherlock bit his tongue to keep from making a snarky retort. He hesitated, then shrugged and grabbed the nearest humbler. It was made of wood whereas most the others were made of metal or acrylic. He didn't see the point of having more than one, they all served the same purpose. It must have something to do with Mycroft's mostly questionable sense of aesthetics. (Even Sherlock granted his brother had good taste where Lestrade was concerned.)

John pushed his boy to his knees. “You understand what it is for, I assume?”

Sherlock sent him a look that clearly said 'Don't be an idiot, John'.

“Jesus,” John laughed, slipping out of Dom mode before catching himself. “You're a cheeky bastard without even opening your mouth.” Hadn't he seen... Yes, there it was, a bondage hood. Perfect.

John snatched the hood up and placed it next to the humbler. Sherlock's breathing increased rapidly, but John wasn't bothered. He just grabbed the humbler and pushed him forward to rest on his hands. He removed the cock cage quickly and efficiently, before he slid the catch open and the plank of wood slid in half. He tugged his sub's cock and balls back and placed them in the hole they seemed made for, before snapping it shut and redoing up the bolt.

Next came the hood. As it slid down over his head, pressing his curls against his skull, Sherlock gave a shudder. He could tell from the hood's texture and smell that it was vinyl. Pity, that. When John finally let him talk again he would suggest getting one of their own, only leather.

John made sure he could see if only enough to clean up and pressed the silicon gag between his teeth through the hole in the front of the hood. Sherlock choked slightly as he settled his mouth around it, then John nudged his cock with his toe. “Well, boy? What are you waiting for?”

Sherlock crawled forward, tentatively at first, then with a bit more confidence - too much confidence. He grunted at the painful pull on his bollocks and froze in position.

John laughed and settled back in the chair in the corner. It had a view of the whole room, Sherlock wouldn't be going anywhere fast, if anywhere at all. “Get a move on, boy, we haven't got all night.”

Sherlock broke out in a sweat. He could imagine the picture he made as he crawled around on the floor - he looked like a lowly thing, animalistic, barely human. He was John's plaything. Sherlock really shouldn't have thought that, he groaned around the gag as his well-restrained length began to harden with more than apparent discomfort. He heard John giggle. Giggle! He immediately thought that giggling wasn't appropriate during these scenes, but then, why was he getting harder?

Sherlock had finally made it to the table he had knocked over during his previous visit and he gingerly sat back on his haunches. He was still somewhat bent forward in an effort to reduce the pressure on his bollocks. He straightened the table and immediately bent himself double again, whose crazy idea had it been to invent something so… so unimportant? So impossible? He made his way, with trepidation, towards the shelves, at least there he could put everything back without having to move. Much.

It seemed to take forever, picking up each item and deducing where it had been so he could put it back in place. He got lost in the tedium of it. His erection would likely have flagged completely if it weren't for the constant jabs of pain his movements brought him. Finally, his task was complete, order restored. As he fell forward onto his hands, something flashed in his periphery. Sherlock turned his head to find John grinning and holding out a feather duster.

The sub's head dropped in defeat. He took a deep breath. If he could have spoken he would have apologised for presuming he was finished, instead he crawled the entire length of the room and knelt at his Dom's feet. He lowered his head down to the floor mere inches from the doctor's toes.

John reached down and petted his sub's head, missing the feel of Sherlock's curls. After a moment, a wicked thought occurred to him. The Dom removed the gag from his boy's mouth, paused to run his fingers over Sherlock's pink lips, then presented the duster handle first. “No hands, boy.”

“Please, sir-” he croaked out.

“Shush,” John ordered sharply. The detective's teeth clamped shut with a delectable click. His pet was exhausted and he bowed his head once again. “Head up. Open.” Slowly Sherlock's head came up to a decent height and the Dom wedged the duster handle between his teeth.

John watched Sherlock's valiant effort with a lopsided smile. His boy was trying so hard and behaving quite well, despite the two verbal slip ups. Some sort of reward would definitely be forthcoming, but he couldn't be too indulgent. Sherlock was still being punished after all. Maybe his reward could be being free of the hood and humbler? John chuckled darkly and somehow Sherlock managed to continue with his rather depressing task instead of glare over his shoulder, well the equivalent of a glare with a hood on.

Finally, John felt Sherlock had had enough. “Boy!” The sub's head jerked around. “Come here,” John pointed to the floor in front of him.

Sherlock crawled gingerly to the designated spot and knelt as best he could. He sighed with relief as his Dom removed the duster from his mouth, but when John went to remove the hood, his hands flew up and grasped his wrists. He even emitted a little whine.

“What, boy?”

Sherlock's eyes darted around the room, but they didn't hold the energy they usually did. When he realised he couldn't answer his head ducked again.

“Oh, I see, you want me to remove the thing around your bollocks first, yes?”

There was no answer. John used the small hoop on the back of the hood to pull his head up.

“That was a question, boy.”

“Yes, sir,” he whispered, his voice rough with disuse.

John debated waiting a bit to remove the humbler, just on principle, but decided against it as the sheen of sweat Sherlock was sporting was quite spectacular and there was a tremble in the younger man's thighs. That didn't mean he couldn't play with his boy a while first. “You see, boy, I figured you'd want a reward for finishing up and making your brother's playroom so pretty again.”

Sherlock's head left the floor it had bowed back to, but only just, enough to show John his hope.

“I figured your reward could be me removing this awful device as well as the hood, of course. What do you say?”

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply, but hesitated, not sure if he had permission to speak. He settled for nodding vigorously, very, very vigorously. That was, apparently the correct choice as John gave a low chuckle, then removed the device. Relieved, Sherlock knelt up properly. His head was low, through submission, but exhaustion too. He brought his hands up to rest in his neck, elbows out. His balls ached something fierce, but he couldn't find anger at that, just shame. He'd deserved it.

John reached up to remove the hood, revealing a mess of sweaty hair. It lay flat against Sherlock's skull, damp little whisps sticking out randomly. He wondered if there was a shower here, then he laughed... Of course there was. Mycroft wouldn't do anything by halves.

Sherlock could feel the doctor's eyes watching him, his dominance bearing down on him. He would have whimpered, but John had spent the majority of the day teaching him to keep his mouth shut, so he bit his lip and obeyed.

John slipped his hands under Sherlock's arms and hauled him to his feet. His eyes locked on to where his boy was still sucking and biting at his lower lip in a bid to remain silent. “So, you might just be teachable after all. Look at you, all exhausted and pliant and so bloody, bloody gorgeous.” John pressed his lips to Sherlock's, running his tongue over them and seeking entrance.

Sherlock flinched. He couldn't help it. He was being punished, it had come as a complete surprise to be kissed. John knew he liked it – loved it even.

The doctor took a step back and stared into Sherlock's downcast eyes, searching for something.

The detective didn't know if an apology would be accepted so he kept his mouth shut and stared at John's shoes, highly polished.

With a finger under his chin, John tipped Sherlock's head up so he could look him in the eyes. There was a clear look of confusion on his boy's face. “Sherlock, this is me checking in with you. Are you alright? Do you need to safe word?”

Sherlock's brow wrinkled and that cute little ridge crept up on the bridge of his nose. What had he done wrong? “I'm fine, sir.”

“You just looked a bit...” John shrugged. “Lost.”

Sherlock dropped back to his knees, why did he always do something wrong? Even when he was trying his hardest to be good.

“Honest, sir, I'm fine. I'm sorry if I've upset you again, sir.”

John shook his head. They were going to have to get past this propensity of Sherlock's to think he had done wrong when he hadn't and to think himself in the right when he wasn't. With a grip in wet curls, the doctor hauled him to his feet again.

Sherlock walked with his head down, almost dozily. He could feel his cock and balls throbbing between his legs and wondered at what point the Dom would fasten the cage back around his cock. He was completely lost in thoughts of disappointing John. The next thing he knew, he was being thrust under a stream of pleasantly hot water and his Dom's hands were stroking along his sides. He bit his lip once again to stop moaning and wasn't surprised to find John stroked everywhere except his cock. He'd said he wouldn't be getting an orgasm for at least a week. And as for a reward? Removal of the humbler was enough. More than enough.

John's hands finally came to a rest on Sherlock's hips. Holding him steady, he began to thrust against his boy's arse, sliding his cock along his crack.

Sherlock really did not see what happened next coming, not at all. Just as he was beginning to thrust back into the doctor the cage appeared and was tightened around his cock once more. He was so frustrated, but he wanted to be good for John. His fist flew to his mouth and he bit it, almost hard enough to draw blood.

“Hey!” John chastised him. “No hurting yourself. There's no need for that.” The doctor gripped his wrist and moved it away from his mouth. He pressed a kiss to Sherlock's palm, letting his lips linger for a bit.

The detective shivered and blinked slowly. He wasn't certain what was happening. All he knew was that he was exhausted and needed to sleep, now. John ran some shampoo through his hair that had been on a shelf and rinsed it out. Sherlock's eyes were falling shut just in these simple motions.

Some indeterminable time later, the detective blinked his eyes open. John was speaking into his ear, saying, “Come on sleepy head. The water's running cold.”

Sherlock shivered and nodded, but he didn't offer to move, just absent-mindedly brought his arms up to twine around John.

The doctor smiled at his boy, so soppy and pliable. John chuckled lightly and lifted him off his feet. By the time they'd reached the bed Sherlock was asleep, his head on his Dom's shoulder.


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock woke with John snuggled up against him, deep asleep. Normally he would spring right out of bed and find something to occupy his mind until the doctor woke, but not now. For one thing, he was uncertain if that would be acceptable behaviour or not. For another, it felt rather nice to be snuggled by John. He reached down and wrapped his hands around the cage that encased his cock. His balls were still painful from their little torture session last night, but he could see the reasoning behind what John had made him do. That didn't mean he had to like it. Well, not for its own sake. He had liked the way he felt while crawling around on the floor, John's eyes watching him the whole time. He had so much of the doctor's attention last night, even if it was rather humiliating. He was just glad that it was Mycroft's place so the chances of it being wired were slim.

“Are you trying to get yourself off, boy?”

Sherlock jerked in surprise at the sound of his Dom's voice.

“N... no, sir.” He had just stammered. How humiliating.

John grasped his boy's wrists and held them against the mattress over Sherlock's head. “That wasn't very convincing.” He placed a kiss on the tip of his boy's nose, trailed kisses down his neck, then bit hard on his shoulder.

“I wasn't, sir, honest.” He tried not to move into or away from the bite and kept himself still.

“Are you lying to me, boy? You must know by now how suicidal that would be.”

“I was thinking about yesterday. How you watched me, sir. I don't understand why it should be so arousing.” His nose crinkled as he thought. “Why is it so arousing, John? Sir?”

The doctor gave a little laugh. “You're the genius. You tell me.”

“But, sir. You know more about sex and stuff.”

“Sex and stuff.” John shook his head at Sherlock's choice of words. “I meant to shut your brain down, but I thought it'd be back online by now.”

The detective pouted and then poked his tongue out. John leant forward and bit it, pulling it into his mouth as he kissed him. He gripped both of the younger man's wrists in one of his hands and then reached down to squeeze his balls that weren't in the cage but we're still feeling its confines.

“You get off on humiliation, I've known for a while.”

That sent Sherlock's mind reeling. A humiliation kink. He should have realised. A thought occurred to him. “You never insult my intelligence, not really, not like you mean it. Why not?”

“Because, you git, you'd never stand for it. If I tried, you'd snap out of subspace and rip me apart with your wit.”

“Not if you told me that was wrong.”

John shook his head slightly. “That's not wrong, you bugger, that's just you, and I’m not going to change you.”

“So we can go home and I can go out on cases again?”

The Dom smirked. “Nice try, boy, but you're still being punished for that insufferable behaviour of yours, like I said, two weeks.”

“But how do I become a better sub without changing?”

“There's changing and then there's improving. I fell in love with the irritable sod that is you, not some blank canvas.”

“So, sir, you like that I'm an irritable sod?” He lifted his head and tried to initiate a kiss.

John grinned. “Cheeky bastard.” He rolled off of Sherlock and stood, stretching his arms over his head. Behind him, he heard his boy let out a disappointed huff.

“Which one of us gets to decide what we do and when we do it?”

Another huff and John turned around.

“Well?”

“You, sir.”

“And as nice as this place is, it's time for us to go home. So get up, get dressed.”

There was another huff from his boy.

John had made it to the corner where they'd thrown their clothes the night before. He turned around again and gave him a glare.

“Are you not going to fuck me first?”

“Oh, Sherlock, will you ever learn when to keep your mouth shut? I can make two weeks three if you'd like?”

Sherlock snapped his mouth shut. The idea of adding another week to his punishment definitely did not appeal.

“That's better, boy,” John gave his approval. And I am gonna fuck you into the mattress when we get home came John's thought.

“Now what are you waiting for, get up and get dressed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sherlock blinked. He'd just been talking to John, then his Dom had given him the order to shower and now here he was, standing under the falling water. He didn't even remember coming into the loo. He called out in panic, “John!”

The Dom flew into the loo at Sherlock's panicked shout. “Sherlock, are you alright?”

“How'd I get here?”

John shook his head in confusion.

“We were talking,” Sherlock said, “then suddenly I was here.”

Eyes widening in understanding, John smiled. “You must have still been under a bit, despite you chitter chattering. Sorry, love. I should have seen.”

“Under?”

“Subspace, babe, you were well into it last night. Turn around I'll do your hair for you.”

More than aware he could shower himself, but not wanting to upset the Dom Sherlock turned and leant against the wall. When John's fingers started working the shampoo through his hair, the sub melted. Every now and then, the scrape of fingernails against his scalp drew out a little purr of appreciation. Unfortunately, there was another side effect, one that was limited by the cage around his cock.

“Sir, could you-”

“Not a chance.”

How did he even know what he was going to say? He was the one that could read John like a book not the other way around.

“But-”

“What did I say to you?”

“It would be at least a week before you let me come, sir.”

Abruptly, Sherlock experienced a mental shift. Up until now, he had been merely reacting, which wasn't entirely bad. In fact, during an isolated scene, it was quite nice. The problem was, he couldn't live his life as one long scene. He needed to start acting instead of reacting. He needed to engage John at different levels, present him a real challenge. Sherlock grinned. He'd have John letting him come within the day.

“Come on, you're taking forever. Get dressed we'll grab some breakfast on the way home.”

John padded off back towards their clothes and began getting dressed, not very long later Sherlock joined him. He pounced and threw the older man onto the bed.

“What are you mpf...” John's query was cut off by a serious snog. For a moment, he forgot himself and returned the kiss with interest. He rolled them over and rutted against Sherlock's bare stomach a few times before he caught himself. “You... you great prick!”

“What?” Sherlock asked innocently.

“You've got the cheek to… to…” John trailed off, shaking his head in annoyance. He went back to getting dressed not even glancing at the detective again. 

Sherlock quickly rethought his strategy. A frontal attack would definitely not achieve what he wanted. He would have to approach this in a more subtle manner. Unfortunately, subtlety had never been his strong suit. He slipped off the bed and followed the doctor. He began to dress silently, keeping his head down. Once he was practically fully clothed except his coat, John was as well. He hissed as John grabbed him by the collar. Sherlock's mind raced. Don't fight, this isn't the time to fight, think. He let himself be tugged around, but looked away from John's face. It wouldn't do to be caught plotting.

John dragged him through the playroom and stopped by the door long enough for them both to put their coats on and unlock the door.

Neither of them were surprised to see a black sedan sat out on the road waiting for them.

Sherlock let himself be manhandled into the car. When his eyes fell on the bondage hood lying on the back seat of the car, he laughed. Mycroft had had cameras installed in his play den, then, and he must have been watching at least part of the time. Interesting, that.

Sherlock swallowed awkwardly when John weighed the hood up in his hand. It had been nice last night, not worrying about his senses for a change but once was enough. He was starting to regret rugby tackling his doctor onto the bed mere moments ago as the older man undid each strap.

“John, sir. You wouldn't.” Sherlock glanced towards the driver. “Not in the car.”

The doctor pretended to consider for a moment. “You know what? You've missed something.” He pulled his boy near and forced the hood over his head. “Humiliation kink, remember?”

Sherlock had gone still. He remained still as John did up the straps, snugging the hood in place. One of the Dom's fingers ran over the masked curve of Sherlock's jaw in a slow caress. John then pressed the gag in that had also been on the seat and buckled it to the ring in the hood. He left the blindfold on, and Sherlock was soothed by the padded circles. Distracted as he was, the sub didn't see what happened next coming. He was forced off his seat and encouraged roughly to his knees. His head was pushed down, his nose pressed against John's erection.

“Hands behind your back, boy. Hold your left wrist with your right hand.”

Sherlock obeyed. One wrist tightly gripping the other.

“Now if you had behaved this morning we could have cuddled for this trip and the hood would have stayed where it was. Instead, you're going to kneel there, close to my erection, but not allowed to touch it. Rather than doing so you can suck on that fake dildo, thinking about what could have happened.”

Much to Sherlock's embarrassment, he started sucking on the dildo, he didn't seem able to help himself. He let out a whine as all thoughts of scheming went straight out the window and he imagined himself happily sucking on John's cock instead.

It was a surprise when they reached Baker Street and John just pulled him from the back of the car. He dragged him through the front door, stripping him of his coat and scarf and then continued up the stairs.

Sherlock was seriously regretting his inability to stop scheming, that was what John had been going on about, he needed to trust and do as he was told. Instead, he couldn't even see the gorgeous blond that was his Dom.

Sherlock found himself stood in the centre of the room, unable to see or speak. That wasn't so bad, but when John's hands pulled away, that was horrible. He was left adrift. He stood for a few moments, unsure what to do. Eventually he dropped to his knees, he felt safer on his knees; not quite a large distance to fall if he was to be pushed. John placed his hand between his boy's shoulder blades and slowly pressed forward, tipping him so that he was forced to bring his forehead to the floor and rest it there. Sherlock had no idea what to expect. But that didn't matter John pulled both his wrists around behind him and cuffed them there with the usual leather cuffs. Then he backed off heading into the kitchen to make tea and some breakfast seeing as Sherlock's activities meant they forfeited eating out.

A bit later, John returned to the living room. He ordered him to crawl towards the sofa and kneel in front of it, then the Dom disappeared from the room again.

Sherlock did as he was told, it was awkward given the fact he couldn't see and his wrists were still behind him, but John wouldn't have told him to do it if he had doubted his abilities to do so.

John came back once again, carrying a tray with tea, toast and a sliced apple. He placed it on the nearby table and turned to his boy. It was a shame he'd have to remove the gag and hood, but Sherlock really needed to eat something.

“It won't be off long, boy,” John assured him as he slid the gag free and removed the hood. “But if you keep that mouth shut and speak politely when spoken to I may leave the gag out or maybe the blindfold off.”

Sherlock remained silent, but his glare put paid to the notion of John going easy on him later. The doctor held a slice of apple to the detective's lips, which remained stubbornly shut. “Neither of us are going anywhere until you've eaten.”

Sherlock looked away, he just couldn't help himself. Something inside him was screaming at him to behave, but another part was telling him not to submit.

“We'll be here a while, then, won't we?” Sherlock snarled, staying far enough away from John's hand so that he couldn't force the fruit in.

John moved close and grasped Sherlock's chin in a tight grip, turning his head so he was forced to look in his eyes. “I can keep you kneeling here all day until you decide to eat like a good boy, but it's going to get very boring very soon.”

Sherlock had a choice here, open his mouth and eat or not. It was simple. Sherlock went the wrong way. He pulled his head from John's grip and stared at the floor. He wasn't hungry and he wasn't going to eat.

“Oh, boy, you just want these next 2 weeks as difficult as possible, don't you?”

When there was no response John snatched the hood up again.

Sherlock's eyes went wide and he shook his head frantically. Unfortunately for him, he didn't think of the simple expedient of opening his mouth.

“If this keeps up, I may have to get a funnel gag.” John laughed. “I could always pour nutritional shakes into it.”

“John-”

“I gave you fair warning, boy.”

He pushed the hood back over his head and strapped it up as tightly as he could.

Sherlock kicked his feet against the floor behind him in displeasure. His Dom just shook his head and popped the apple slice in his mouth and chewed.

John carried on with the rest of his half of the breakfast, he ignored all of Sherlock's muttered protests and his thrashing around. He was highly disappointed in the younger man, maybe Sherlock would realise that, but he didn't hold his breath.

During his thrashing about, Sherlock fell to his side. The resulting painful jolt brought him back to himself and he simply lay there, unmoving. Where had his resolve to get the better of John gone?

The doctor had watched the last few seconds of Sherlock's struggling. He saw him topple over, but knew he wouldn't do any damage himself so let him do it, hoping it would help.

Sherlock stayed completely still until John reached down, grabbed him by his cuffed wrists and pulled him back to his knees.

“Are you ready to try this my way, boy?”

Sherlock uttered a muffled 'mpf'.

“I need something more concrete than that. Nod or shake your head.”

The detective gave a reluctant nod.

John took another moment, just to prove his point before he removed the hood again. Sherlock shook his head, the only way he could ruffle his curls with his wrists behind him.

“No more disobedience, Sherlock, this doesn't have to be any more painful than you make it.”

The sub was finally able to think clearly again and had his goal in mind. When the apple slice slid between his lips, he drew it in along with John's fingers and licked.

The doctor sighed and pulled his fingers back. “Let's just get this over with, boy, I think it's about time you went over my lap.”

The detective's head snapped up and he glared at the older man.

Sherlock started to pull away, but John had him over his lap in a heartbeat.

“Don't pretend you don't like being over my lap. I'll just have to be a bit rougher than I have in the past and you'll have to beg me to stop.”

John pushed him back onto his knees so he could finish the rest of his breakfast. Once he had, he repositioned him over his knee.

Sherlock's squirmed despite himself as he tried to get friction on his cock. For some reason, friction between the bars of the cage was better than friction over it entirely, it was like teasing. But then he remembered that he wasn't going to get to come for at least a week and that he was meant to be changing the Dom's mind about that.

John was having none of it, so landed a blow to his boy's arse. “I told you, this is punishment. You're not meant to enjoy it.” He shifted his boy so that his cock hung there untouched. John positioned Sherlock's cuffed wrists out of the way at the small of his back and held them there with one hand. With the other, he dealt the hardest blow he'd ever given to his sub's arse. For once, Sherlock's yelp of pain was sincere. The Dom could sympathise as his own hand was already throbbing. He'd need a paddle to finish this properly. By the tenth blow of this intense level of Spanking Sherlock had ceased attempting to grind his cock into anything it could reach and instead settled for wiggling uncomfortably.

John had been hoping for his boy to start begging by now, but Sherlock was being typically stubborn. “You should see how red your arse is, boy.” He ran his hand over both cheeks the scraped the hot flesh with his fingernails. Sherlock hissed in pain. “Get ready for round two. I want to see some tears.”

Sherlock hadn't expected to suddenly be in the air, but John was carrying him through to the bedroom. He deposited him on his knees and searched their box for the paddle.

At the sight of the paddle, Sherlock felt remorse or at least regret for the consequences of his actions. “Please, sir. You don't need to paddle me. I'll be good.”

John sat on the bed and with a gesture ordered his boy over his knees once again.

“Not 10 minutes ago you were glaring at me for giving you at least a warning. You managed to end up back in the hood when I'd taken it off because you were refusing to eat and when I pulled you up over my lap you decided to rub what part of your cock you could reach on my leg. Your understanding of the words 'I'll be good' are a heck of a lot different to mine.”

“I know what... Ow! Dammit, John.” Sherlock's legs were flailing.

The doctor froze, paddle raised and half expecting the safe word. When it didn't come, he brought the paddle down again. “What did you call me?”

“Sir! I meant sir, I swear!”

John brought the paddle down again. “I'm reinstating yesterday's rule, if you want to say anything other than a simple yes or no you'll use the notebook.”

Three more strikes of the paddle had tears streaming from his eyes and he was gasping out huge sobs. He wasn't allowed to talk anymore, so how could he beg like John wanted? One more swat and he broke, babbling out a string of pleases and sorrys.

John put down the paddle and ran a hand over the glowing red flesh of his sub's arse, it was in dire need of aftercare. Looking at it, he didn't have the heart to berate him for speaking. But he'd let him fret over it for a moment, he twisted him around so he was back on his knees, but leaning over the bed and stood to head to the bathroom. He found some Arnica and brought it back to the bedroom where Sherlock remained, completely still but sniffling and sobbing like a well chastised sub.

When John first began to rub the cream into his boy's backside, Sherlock let out a loud hiss. The Dom continued to work the red, glowing flesh until, finally, Sherlock began to relax and sagged onto the bed. It was a few more minutes before John realised that his boy had fallen asleep.

The doctor unclasped the cuffs and moved his arms around to the front. He manoeuvred him around on the bed into a comfortable position, attached a length of chain to the cuffs and then to the headboard with a padlock. John brushed a few curls back before kissing him quickly and leaving him to sleep in the comfort of knowing he wasn't going anywhere.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is angst ahead. Serious angst.

Sherlock woke to calloused, but gentle hands removing the cuffs from his wrists. John brought each of them to his lips and kissed away their soreness.

“Um…

“Um?” John chuckled at his boy's lack of words.

Sherlock watched as John placed the cuffs on the side. “You're letting me go?”

“I'm not exactly letting you go, not entirely. You're still grounded, so we're staying in the flat, but you've had a hard few days, so I have decided to smother you with love.”

“Oh, God. Pass me your SIG I have a sudden need to use it.”

John stepped back and folded his arms. “Would you rather I did the cuffs back up and left you there? I could even get Mycroft to drop off that humbler. Then you'd be forced to stay on your knees.”

“No, sir! No! I'm sorry, sir.”

“Good. Now get your lazy arse out of that bed and join me for breakfast.” That earned him the expected pout, and he grinned. Sherlock would be thoroughly surprised when he saw what John had prepared. It was a smorgasbord of every sticky, sweet thing that Sherlock liked.

“I'm not hungry,” Sherlock complained.

“You will be, boy, trust me.”

“But-”

John reached down and grabbed his hand to pull him up. “The threat of the humbler still applies, boy.”

As soon as John had turned his back, Sherlock stuck his tongue out in the Dom's direction.

John halted in mid stride and turned around. “Seriously? I'm not blind.” He pointed at the mirror in explanation. “I suppose you had best crawl to breakfast.”

“John-”

“Kneel, Sherlock. Now.” He waited until he grudgingly obeyed. “I thought we could have a civil day. A day without me needing to spank you, because I really couldn't imagine the pain from a paddling after that one last night. Is that what you want?”

Reluctantly, Sherlock answered, “No, sir.”

John patted his head, then ran his fingers through his hair. “Good boy.”

“Heel,” he said it with conviction and then grinned when Sherlock followed on. He led him through to the table and smiled at the array of food. Then remember that Sherlock was crawling and couldn't see.

“Okay, boy. You can sit in a chair while we eat.”

As Sherlock did as instructed, his eyes widened at the sight of the feast. Normally, John tried to mitigate his boy's tendency to eat only sweets, and the occasional bag of chips, but there wasn't a single item on the table with redeeming qualities. Well, maybe the honey. Would John let him eat it straight from the jar?

John must have read his thoughts because he plucked the jar from Sherlock's out-stretched hand before he could grasp it.

“On toast only, boy.”

John slathered a large amount of gooey honey onto a slice of toast and handed it to his boy. It was almost as much as the detective would have used himself.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out John's game. Perhaps his Dom was trying to bribe him into good behaviour.

“Well eat it, then, boy.”

Sherlock realised he'd been staring at the jar until John spoke and brought him out of his thoughts. He looked down to see two slices of toast covered in honey.

Without pausing further, Sherlock lifted one of the slices of toast to his lips. He darted out his tongue and licked away a sticky globule that was about to drip on his finger. At the unique taste, Sherlock's eyes flew open. “This is Sourwood honey, from America, Georgia to be precise.” He should have known simply from its light amber colour and fulsome aroma. “You had to special order this. Why?”

“Oh, I've had it for some time. I was just saving it for the right occasion.”

Sherlock made the best of the rest of his toast, he was half scared that the older man would take it away. So before he spoke again, he ate what he could.

“Right occasion? I've been a shit for weeks.”

John barked a surprised laugh. “Well, I can't argue that.” He gave a shrug. “I don't know. I've had to be harsh with you for days and I suppose it's wearing on me a bit. Here, have a biscuit.” A chocolate biscuit flew through the air, to be snatched from its course by Sherlock.

The detective frowned at the biscuit before taking a bite out of it. He shifted uncomfortably as his sore arse starting to throb on the seat. “Hard on you? I'm the one who's been punished, sorry, being punished.”

John threw three more biscuits at his boy in quick succession. Again Sherlock snatched them from the air.

“Tell me, boy. How would you like it if our positions were reversed? Would you enjoy punishing me? Spanking me until I cried and begged?”

“I... John...” Sherlock's brain went offline.

“Well? Would you?” John needed an answer here. Sherlock had brought it up after all.

“I… well… I think it depends on how bad you'd been. I wouldn't enjoy it, I don't think, but I would tolerate it.”

“Much like the last few days, no? Punishment is to help you learn. You make me be strict with you, Sherlock, incredibly strict.”

The detective scowled down at the table. Absent-mindedly, he snagged another biscuit and, before John could stop him, dipped it into the open jar of honey. “I'm sorry?” Sherlock's voice had been unsure, those weren't two words he was intimate with. “I don't try to push.”

“You don't try to push?” John repeated incredulously. He reached out and stopped Sherlock's hand as it moved towards his mouth with the honey coated biscuit. “Sherlock, you push all the time.”

“I don't mean to,” he countered immediately. “You just think I do, and then just punish me more.”

“You mean to say you don't think you deserve to be grounded? You didn't deserve to clean your brother’s play room? You didn't deserve that spanking last night?”

“I deserved to clean Mycroft's play room. I messed it up. But nothing else.”

John shook his head and released his hand. “Eat whatever you want,” he murmured, standing up and walking through to the other room. There were footsteps on the stairs and John's old room door slammed shut.

Suddenly, the treats on the table held no appeal for Sherlock. He hesitated, then forced himself to play back the last few days in his head. He let out a little “Oh.” The house arrest, or grounding as John sometimes called it, had been because he had lied, then run away and then blamed Mycroft for it all. John didn't like worrying about him and he hated it when he was inconsiderate. Okay, maybe the grounding had been justified, but the spanking... He breathed another “Oh.” The spanking had been because he was being a manipulative twat and trying to get his own way.

Sherlock shook his head, he had to make this right but he didn't know how. John always knew these things, but he never did. Glancing around at the table, he realised he'd messed up. John had set all this up to give them both a bit of a break despite himself not deserving one and what had he done? Questioned John's abilities and tried to make out that he was hard done by, guilt churned away and he decided he didn't like it. Not one bit.

Sherlock made his way up the stairs, having thrown on a sheet in case Mrs. Hudson made an appearance. He stopped just outside the bedroom door, hesitating, not at all sure his presence would be welcomed. Unable to make himself put his hand to the doorknob, he sank to the floor in a pile of sheet clad detective. Why couldn't John have been the one to be in the wrong? At least John would be the one to apologise and he knew what he was doing. His head hit the wall behind him with a dull thud.

On the other side of the door, John was lying back on his old bed, staring at the ceiling, something he had done so many times in the past. He knew Sherlock was up here too, the stairs were terrible for creeping around, but he couldn't bring himself to open the door and let him in. So he stayed where he was, hands clenched behind his head and didn't let his eyes drift from the slightly peeling paint on the ceiling.

Sherlock couldn't stand the separation any longer so he reached up and tested the doorknob. It wasn't locked. He opened the door a crack and peeked in.

John didn't acknowledge his presence.

Biting his lip, Sherlock crawled into the room. He only hesitated a moment before climbing onto the bed and curling up around John's feet.

Only then did John's eyes flicker down towards him. Sherlock was facing the other way, for which he was glad. He had gone out of his way to make the morning special, he felt like they both deserved it, yes the sub had been a sod, but he had hoped they were starting to get somewhere, but apparently not. It was like Sherlock had seen the effort he'd gone through and couldn't help but rip it to shreds. Like there had to be an ulterior motive. Wasn't love motive enough? By the look at the younger man he was feeling guilty. John couldn't help but think good.

Sherlock let out a single, body-wrenching sob before he could stop himself.

John watched him for a moment and sighed. His head went back and hit the headboard. He gritted his teeth at the painful thud. He should have locked the door. He shouldn't have let Sherlock in here.

Sherlock read John's complete lack of response as rejection. He bit the side of his hand to keep from making further sound. When he got control of himself, he climbed shakily to his feet and left the room without looking back. He was operating on auto pilot as he went down the stairs. In the living room, he looked around at his suddenly drab appearing surroundings. He walked towards John's chair and sat down in it, he pulled the Dom's jumper from the back and wrapped it around him like a blanket. Why did he have to screw everything up? He should leave, he should really, really go, but he couldn't, John wouldn't approve. He wasn't allowed outside, at least not on his own.

It was over an hour later that John came down from his old room. He stopped in the doorway and stared at the detective who was curled up miserably in the Dom's chair. “You're still here,” he noted in a surprised tone.

“You said I wasn't to leave.”

“I did. But you seem to disregard everything else I say.” He went through to the kitchen and put the kettle on. Tea always made things alright when in fact things really weren't. 

Sherlock bit his lip, he was completely out of his depth. As John returned to the room, the sub slid to the floor, but the doctor sat on the sofa rather than his chair. With resignation, Sherlock hung his head.

John waited until he'd finished his tea before he spoke. “I don't know if I can do this, Sherlock. The idea of it is a lot better than the reality. I hate having to punish you all the time, but at the same time I can't just let you get away with the majority of the things you say and do, they're rude and uncalled for. Either way I can't win so do what you want, ignore the grounding, if you go and get the key from your room I'll let you out of the cage.”

Sherlock's heart jumped into his throat and lodged there. His voice was hesitant as he asked, “You're calling everything off?”

John paused for a moment and took a deep breath. “Why are you so surprised? Isn't that what you want? You've been complaining about the cage for days… and you don't believe you deserve any of this. Who am I to make you?”

The detective looked at his hands, which were twisted together. “You know my skull is thicker than average.” It wasn't meant as a joke.

John didn't take it as one. “I know. I'm just exhausted from attempting to get through to you and I'm not sure I should keep trying.”

“Please, let me try.”

John just shook his head.

“Then... let me take care of you? For the day?”

John glanced at the table, the food from breakfast lay there undisturbed.

“I tried to take care of you, but look where that got me.”

“I was an idiot. I'm sorry.”

John barked a laugh and gave a weary smile. “Yes, you are an idiot.”

“Your idiot?”

“Yes. Come here.”

Sherlock shuffled over, staying on his knees as he went. He was gathered up in strong arms and drawn to John's chest.

“I'll try to think before I act,” the detective offered.

John nodded. “Trial period. Today only.”

Sherlock pulled his head back. “But-”

“But nothing, Sherlock, you can go and get the key for that if you want, I know you know where it is.”

Sherlock's hand strayed idly to his imprisoned cock even as he shook his head. “I don't just want it off, if I did, it would have been gone the first day. I want you to take it off.” He held up his hand when John started to speak, “but because you want to. There's really not much point, otherwise.”

John pushed him off his lap and stood, his back clicking. He walked to the bedroom, dug the key out and headed back towards Sherlock.

“If you unlock it, it will be like this is all over.”

“Isn't it already? I just thought, well, isn't this 'trial period' just a waste of both our time?” John cupped his cheek. “I love you, but I think we need to go back to the way things were.”

Sherlock didn't fight. If John thought this was for the best, then it probably was. After all, this lifestyle seemed to be tearing them apart. Maybe it had torn them apart already.


	8. Chapter 8

“John, sir, wait please!” Sherlock found himself choking on a sob. He was on a fence. One side was freedom to do whatever he wanted, eat what he wanted when he wanted, sleep when he wanted, and even go out on cases when they came up but on the other was John. He may not like this constant punishment, the grounding or the way John had to be tough, but it was what he needed, maybe what they both needed for the better.

For once Sherlock chose the better path for the both of them. “I'm sorry, sir, I'm really sorry. I do deserve this punishment and the spanking last night, I deserve a lot more. This morning, you were so nice and calm and I just… I was expecting a trap, expecting something to go wrong so I forced it to. I know I'm an idiot. But please, please, leave the cage on, we can't go back to the way things were. I won't argue with you anymore and I'll stay in the flat until you let me out. I won't like it, but punishment isn't meant to be enjoyed, is it? Just give me this chance, if I screw up again, you can take it away.”

John's hands froze in the act of reaching for the cock cage. He looked into Sherlock's eyes with an intensity that made his boy gasp. “I don't know.”

The detective wrapped his hands around John's wrists. “I have a safe word for when things get too intense. Maybe... Yes, you should have one too, for when I push too hard or just don't think.” The doctor hadn't pulled away. That had to be a good sign. “Just, please. Leave it on and I'll stay here in the flat like you wanted me to. You don't have to do anything else until you feel like it.”

John pulled his wrists free, still staring into Sherlock's unusual eyes.

The detective sniffed in dejection and glanced down. He straightened up and wriggled his pyjama bottoms down, leaving John enough room to remove the cage. He had tried.

John dropped the key to the cage and pulled Sherlock against him. “You mad thing, you,” he said with tired fondness. “It's alright. And that's a brilliant idea.” He stroked his hand along Sherlock's spine, enjoying the reassuring contact of skin on skin. “If you get to be too much, I'll just say 'Anderson'.”

Sherlock's mouth quirked up into a hesitant smile. “Good. That's good.” He hesitated. “Can I take care of you, now?”

“Take care of me how?”

“However you like.”

“I would like to just sit with tea and cake and relax without worrying about you.”

Sherlock scampered off like a puppy. In the kitchen, he put on water for more tea. John needed tea. He had drunk tea, but he needed more tea. He opened and closed every cabinet looking for cake. There was nothing. Sherlock turned and walked briskly through the living room and out the door, intent on plying Mrs. Hudson for cake.

“Sherlock!” John called out behind him. “Clothes!”

Sherlock spun on his toe awkwardly and went into the bedroom and threw something decent on before charging down the stairs. When he reappeared the kettle had boiled and he sets bout making tea.

He took the tea and cake into John and set about cleaning the things up from breakfast. It was hard to believe that was more than 3 hours ago. Sherlock paused in his puttering. John had eaten very little before everything had gone pear shaped. Before he'd made things go pear shaped.  Pulling open a drawer, he rummaged through several take away menus. Nothing seemed appropriate. He pulled out his phone and looked at the time. It was half past 11. He called Angelo's.

“I've ordered takeaway,” he said as he came back in.

John glanced at him, he looked exhausted. “For lunch?”

The detective nodded as he stood there shifting from foot to foot. He didn't want to crowd John, but he wanted to be closer to him.

The doctor looked at him for a moment before beckoning him near.

“Yes, for lunch. You didn't eat much breakfast, which I know,” he held a finger up. “Is my fault.”

John didn't contradict him, but nodded and closed his eyes. He looked worn to the detective, stretched thin and it was Sherlock's fault. The younger man looked around the flat, trying to decide what he could do to help John relax. His eyes fell on his violin.

He grabbed the blanket as he went and tucked it under John's chin. The doctor didn't move so Sherlock picked up his violin and began to play.

At first, nothing seemed to change, but slowly the tension in the room began to lessen. Sherlock turned tentatively from the window to look in John's direction. The doctor had fallen asleep.

Not sure what he should do now, Sherlock dropped to his knees beside his chair and rested his head against the Dom's knee. He should do something else. Anything else but he didn't know what and he didn't want to wake John up. He'd just stay knelt there until Angelo dropped food off.

It barely registered with him when the door buzzer sounded - he had been lost in thought. Sherlock stood quickly and ran down the stairs before the delivery boy could sound the buzzer again. He took the food from the boy's hand and replaced it with a tip. John believed in such things.

He carried the bag back upstairs to find John was upright in his chair. He'd been asleep for just under half an hour, but was alert. Must have been army training kicking in.

“I'm sorry, sir, I forgot to ask Angelo to text rather than buzz.”

John ran his hand through his sandy-blond hair. “I don't understand.”

“You need your rest, sir. I could see it in your face, even when you were asleep.”

“Well, I'm not sleeping in the middle of the day. It's hard enough to sleep at night as it is.”

Sherlock dropped his head, knowing he was at fault again. He placed the bag on the surprisingly clear table and pulled the dishes out.

The detective served John first, then he served himself. He wasn't really hungry, but he didn't want his Dom to feel obligated to say something about him eating. Still, he glared at each bite he stuffed into his mouth.

“It's not going to kill you.”

Sherlock's eyes darted up to meet the doctor's. “I know.”

“Well, I wasn't sure you did, not from the way you were looking at it.”

Sherlock risked another glance in John's direction. The doctor was smiling and it was a real smile that brightened his face a bit. Maybe Sherlock had got something right.

He ate as much as he could manage and then tried to avoid further conversation with the doctor until he was finished.

“You can eat more than that, 'Lock.”

Sherlock glanced over and opened his mouth to argue but stopped himself.

“Yes, sir.”

Sherlock managed three more bites, but the fourth was beyond him. Even the glimpse he had got of John's smile couldn't make the food sit comfortably in his stomach.

“Alright, Sherlock, don't make yourself sick. Good boy, for trying. I can't eat anymore either. Clear this lot up and meet me in the bedroom.”

Sherlock stood up and immediately packed all the containers away, he watched silently as John got up and left the kitchen in the direction of their room. Sherlock walked down the short hallway, then stopped to hover in the doorway of their bedroom. John was sat on their bed waiting.

“Crawl,” he ordered.

Sherlock dropped to his knees immediately. He knew he wasn't about to have the cage removed, he'd passed up on that opportunity already, so he wondered what John was up to. He crawled between John's spread legs and, after the briefest of thoughts, dropped his head to rest on the doctor's thigh.

John let out a sigh and raised his left hand to his boy's curls. “How much better it is with you like this,” he commented.

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut against his sudden tears. He couldn't lose this. There was nothing worth paying that price. If he had to choose between this or cases, he'd never step foot in the Yard again.

A hand worked its way under the detective's cheek and lifted his head.

John looked down at his boy's damp cheeks. “Please, don't cry, love.”

“I can't help it. I've just realised something I should have worked out a long time ago.”

“What's that?”

“I can't lose you. If I had to choose between you and the Yard, there's no contest. I just need to find a way to keep this. Keep you.”

John bent down and brushed a kiss across Sherlock's forehead. “You won't lose me. No matter what. You have to understand that. You have to believe it. I don't know if the full time Dom/sub thing can really work, but you're not going to lose me.”

“I thought maybe I already had.” That confession had hurt, so Sherlock buried his face in John's lap again.

“Oh, Sherlock,” John held him tight. “I'm sorry if I wasn't more objective. I know this lifestyle is one you may need. I know you were so much better on cases after scenes together but if it doesn't work out. It won't ruin us.”

Sherlock sniffed slightly. “I can't stay like this. I'll forget that I'm supposed to be good. It's so different from the normal me.”

“It's not a different you, pet, it's a nicer version yes, but you will still be you. I promised you that and I meant it.”

“But I can't-”

“I know you are trying really hard right now and that you won't be able to be like this all the time. I understand that. But sometimes you need to see when you're pushing too hard. If we're sticking with this full time thing there will be consequences for your actions, consequences that,” he reached down and cupped the cage through his trousers, “you are already getting used to.”

Sherlock pulled a face, but it was more one of resignation than anger. “I know, but I don't have to like it, do I?”

“No, boy, you don't have to like it.”

“Good, because I don't.”

“Now, then.” John had a mischievous look. It suited him far better than anger. “There was something said earlier about you taking care of me.”

Sherlock nodded eagerly, hoping he would get to suck John off. It would be something familiar and intimate.

“I believe, boy, that I would like a massage.”

“Are you sure you don't want that in here.” He pointed from John's cock to his mouth and the doctor laughed. He dropped to his knees beside him. “Oh, pet, what did I do to deserve you?” One hand went to the back of his head and the other around his shoulders as he pulled him under his chin.


	9. You Wanted a Distraction

John was laying on their bed, thoroughly relaxed from the massage his boy had given him – there was a definite advantage to having a sub with talented hands.

“John, sir,” Sherlock breathed into his Dom's ear, “Are you asleep, or were you still planning on using my mouth?”

“Well that is a good point, boy,” he turned and pushed Sherlock back, so he slid off the bed.

The detective made sure to land on his knees and then lowered his head.

John tapped the top of his boy's curls. “Look at me.”

Biting his lip, Sherlock looked up. John's face was set in a stern expression, but there was laughter in the corners of his eyes. The sub allowed himself to relax, well, as much as he could while maintaining posture.

“Open, then.”

Swallowing once, Sherlock opened his mouth. He shuffled forward on his knees so he was at the edge of the bed.

“Hands behind your back, boy.”

Sherlock grasped his left wrist with his right hand behind his back and awaited further orders. John slid forward on the bed and eased himself into his boy's waiting mouth. Eagerly, Sherlock started sucking.

“Take it slow, boy. I want this to last.”

Sherlock gave a jerky nod, his fingers tightening around his wrist.

John chose not to drop his hands in Sherlock's hair, instead he just relaxed them on the bed.

“You should see yourself, boy. You're so beautiful right now.”

Sherlock blinked up at John and hummed happily around his cock. The Dom let out an involuntary moan of pleasure as the vibrations ran along his length.

This, just being on his knees for John, with no punishment attached, felt so nice and relaxing. There was the cock cage, of course, but he could ignore that. He sucked at the cock that filled his mouth and licked it languidly.

John glanced down at his boy's head and smiled. This is what he wanted. This is what they had. He just wondered how long he would be able to keep like this. Now his hands went to his sub's hair, he gripped tightly pulling and tugging his head about.

The cage around Sherlock's cock was getting more difficult to ignore. John's fingers in his hair got the sub hard every time, and he couldn't, not with that infernal thing in place. Sherlock let out a frustrated whine, but daren't stop what he was doing.

“What's wrong?” John asked not really concerned. He pushed him back off his cock for a moment

Sherlock didn't speak, but he glanced down at his trapped length.

“How long have you been in the cage, boy?”

Sherlock sighed. “Not a week,” he pouted. “But, sir-”

“Are we really going to do this again? Things were going so well.”

Sherlock swallowed and looked down at his caged cock once more. He shook his head.

“No, sir. I'm sorry, sir. It's just a distraction. I'll do my best to ignore it.”

“Good. Now suck.” He tightened his grip in Sherlock's curls again and pulled him. “I could always chop it off.”

That surprised Sherlock so much that he snorted, causing him to nearly choke on John's cock. He pulled back, coughing and laughing at the same time.

John tugged him back roughly. “You think I'm joking?”

Sherlock's eyes widened in horror and his knees drew together automatically.

Now, John laughed. “Ridiculous boy, I'd miss it too much. It's too pretty to chop off, even if I never let you use it again.”

That time Sherlock really did believe it. “May I suck your cock, sir? Please?”

“Yes, you may and do a good job of it.”

Sherlock wrapped his lips around John's erection and set to work. He'd forgotten his Dom's earlier admonition to take things slow and sucked vigorously.

John didn't have the heart to stop his enthusiasm. It was so nice to see it. “Good boy.”

Sherlock looked up at John through his lashes, feeling a surge of pride at his Dom's praise. It seemed like ages since John had looked at him like that. He wanted to save the image to his hard drive for later perusal, but it was difficult to do while he worked.

“Stop, boy!” John ordered.

The detective obeyed looking panic stricken.

“I just wondered if you want to copy the look on my face. I saw the way your eyes lit up.”

The panicked expression was immediately replaced by pleasure. “Yes, sir.” Sherlock's eyes went unfocussed for a moment as he took a snapshot of the expression John wore. He hung it on the wall in the 'John' room of his Mind Palace and admired it for a bit before emerging back to the real world. “Thank you, sir,” he said, grinning.

“Now get back to it, boy.”

“Yes, sir.”

This time Sherlock was so greedy in engulfing John's cock that the Dom came on the spot.

Sherlock's eyes went wide as he struggled to swallow everything John gave him. He managed to do it for the most part. Only the tiniest dribble escaped the corner of his mouth.

John reached out and wiped it away with his thumb, then collapsed back on the bed in a languid heap. “Bloody hell, Sherlock, but that mouth of yours is amazing.”

Sherlock stayed where he was knelt, head low. He made sure to keep his mouth shut before he said something he would forever regret. Not only might it ruin this, it might ruin the whole thing. He never knew what was going to come out of his traitorous mouth. It just did.

“Get up here, babe,” John called him with a wave of his hand.

The detective climbed up onto the bed, unsure what he should do next.

“Just... here,” John grabbed his arm and pulled him down to lay next to him. “I know we haven't really done this lately, but, there, that's better.” He had flung his arm across Sherlock's chest and drawn him near. Their feet and legs were hanging off the bed, but neither of them cared. Sherlock stayed where he was, stiff and not moving. “You can relax, you moron.”

“I haven't done something wrong, sir?”

“I didn't call you Sherlock because you did something wrong, babe. I just want to be Sherlock and John for a little while, yeah?” The doctor idly ran his fingers over Sherlock's chest.

The detective relaxed and let out a sigh. “If you're sure.”

“I am. Just for a bit. Promise.”

Sherlock snuggled his head into John shoulder for a moment.

“You like it when you call me boy though, better than pet.”

“I just remember how you reacted the first time I called you that. It didn't, I don't know, seem to resonate with you.”

“It made me feel like a dog or something.” Sherlock shrugged. “But it doesn't bother me. Plus you were probably mad with me. But I like this,” he wrapped his arms around the older man. “Yes, this is good.”

“It is. But don't get too comfy.”

Sherlock snuck a peek at John's face. The older man was still smiling, so everything was okay. “I won't, but I am going to enjoy it while it lasts.”

Before the detective even realised what was happening, he had dozed off in John's lap, the sound of the Dom's heart beat resonating within him.

John didn't have the heart to disturb the detective. This was the most peaceful and relaxed things had been in ages. That was at least partially his fault, he knew, for letting things get out of hand. John ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair as he made a solemn vow, “I'll do better, love. I promise.”

When Sherlock woke many hours later it was to an empty bed. He closed his eyes again for a moment trying to work out what he had done to scare the Dom away. He came up with nothing. He wished John had woken him, now he had no idea what was around the corner. Apparently it was dinner in bed. He wasn't particularly hungry, but after what had happened last time, he wasn't about to argue.

“Hello, boy,” John practically sang as he sat on the edge of the bed with the dinner tray resting on his lap. “I thought we could try this again.”

Sherlock looked away sheepishly. The doctor used his finger under his chin so he could tilt his head back and see into his eyes. “Yes, sir,” he said quietly.

John frowned. “Boy,” he asked gently, “Was that reluctance or regret?”

“Regret, sir.”

“That's done with now. It's a new day, well, evening. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” he tried to push himself to his knees, but the Dom stopped him.

“Stay there, boy. If you got to the floor it wouldn't be dinner in bed, would it?”

“No, sir.”

John picked up a piece of toast with jam and held it to Sherlock's lips. Much to the sub's surprise, his stomach gave a traitorous rumble.

John grinned, “Bite it, boy.”

He quickly did, more for John's benefit and not wanting to disappoint him than his own.

The doctor leant in and placed a kiss on Sherlock's cheek. “That's my good boy.”

The detective squirmed under the praise and could feel himself blushing. He even opened his mouth for the next bite without coaxing.

Sherlock couldn't help thinking what he had ruined before. His blush left and he bit his bottom lip, guilt making its way to the front of his mind again.

John sat the tray aside and straddled the detective's lap. “You're thinking again, boy.” He reached out and tweaked one of Sherlock's nipples. “Stop. Thinking.”

“I don't mean to,” he murmured. “I was just thinking about before. About how bad it was and how it was my fault.”

“Listen to me, boy, and listen well. It takes two to fuck up that royally.”

“But...”

John placed his finger on Sherlock's lips cutting him off. “No buts. And anyway. I thought I told you not to bring it up again?”

“You did, sir, but I can't help thinking about it. It could have gone so well.”

“And this can go well if you let it.”

Sherlock looked away, unable to let it go. “Sir...”

“Yes, boy.” John's voice was soft.

The sub bit his lip, nervous about what he was about to say. “I can't stop thinking. Please, make my mind just stop.”

“You'll eat the rest of this toast, without saying another word and then I'll deal with you. Your head at least.”

Sherlock smiled gratefully, in relief.

The detective nibbled his way through the toast, and let himself enjoy the kisses that came with each bite. Just knowing John would take care of him, though not necessarily how he might like, was enough to help his mind quieten a bit.

When Sherlock was done the Dom told him to stay on the bed whilst he went and washed up. When he came back, Sherlock was right on the edge of the bed. “I'm still on it,” he said at the look he got.

John put his hands on his hips and tilted his head to the side. “A technicality. You knew what I meant.” At Sherlock's flinch, he clarified, “But that's not going to change what I'm about to do to you.” He walked over to their toys and fetched a remote controlled vibrator. He held it up for his boy to see. “You'll wear this under your clothes today and if that big brain of yours starts causing trouble, I'll provide a suitable distraction.”

“That's it?”

“Oh no, I'm going to tease you rotten first. Now get on the bed properly.”

The detective immediately shuffled back into the middle of the bed.

“Lay back, boy,” John ordered. “Spread your legs wide, wider, and let your knees fall to the side. Yes just like that.” He smiled down at the pretty picture his boy made. “Now raise your arms over your head and grab the headboard.”

Sherlock's head, the whole time, had been staring at his caged cock. The Dom had made it perfectly clear he wasn't letting him out for at least a week. How much that frustrated him could not even be put into thoughts let alone words.

“That's the thing with this kind of punishment,” the Dom said, “It's supposed to be frustrating.”

Sherlock's head snapped up and he looked at John in disbelief.

“It wasn't exactly a brilliant deduction, what with your forlorn look.” John gave him a lopsided smile. “And when this little cage,” he reached down and jiggled it, “does come off, you'll come harder than you ever have before in your life… That's if it comes off.” John reached into his own trousers and tugged at his cock a few times. “Mine’s lovely and hard now, boy, and that's all because of you.”

Sherlock let his head fall back on the pillow and groaned. John had told him once that no one had ever died from lack of orgasm, but he didn't believe it because he was going to die from it. He was certain. It was as simple as that.

John laughed at his boy's face. The Dom pulled something from his pocket and placed it on his belly button. “Do you know what this is?”

Sherlock glanced at it and shook his head.

“It's a bullet vibrator. I bought it to go inside the cage.”

The sub squirmed and looked from the bullet vibrator to his poor caged cock and then to John's face. He had no idea how this was going to work, but he was certain it would be torture. “Sir…”

“You wanted a distraction, boy,” was all the doctor said. He moved to his sub's cock and released a catch on the base that Sherlock had somehow managed to miss. The end came off on a hinge, releasing just the head, which was already oozing pre come. John slotted the vibrator into the end and re-joined it to the rest of the cage.

Sherlock was transfixed, his eyes locked to the tip of the cage where the vibrator was nestled. The moment John turned it on, the sub gasped and let out a low whine. He released his grip on the headboard and wrapped his hand around the buzzing, caged head of his cock.

John grabbed his wrists in a death grip and despite the buzzing in his cock, his eyes darted to the Dom's.

“If you can't do as you're told. I'll do it for you.”

John grabbed the cuffs from the side board.

Seeing where this was going Sherlock held his other wrist out to the older man. “Thank you, sir,” he said gratefully, as his Dom wrapped the cuffs around his wrists and connected them to the bed via carabiners and eye hooks.

John patted his boy on the head, then ran his fingers through his hair. He gave it a little tug, pulling Sherlock's head to the side. He glanced at the tray. “Well seeing as that cuppa has probably gone cold. I'll go and get myself another one.” On his way out of the door he flicked the switch up a notch on the vibrator.

Oh God, was Sherlock's first thought, if this was what it was like with one vibrator, what the hell was it going to be like when John shoved the other one up his arse? He wouldn't remind him. He definitely would not remind him. He didn't have to. When John returned 15 minutes later, he went straight for the second vibrator that he had placed on the bedside table. He looked at Sherlock and tutted. “Dear me, boy. You don't look distracted enough.”

“Sir, please…”

John held a finger up. “Back to pen and paper when you want to speak, I think.”

Sherlock didn't bother to argue that he couldn't write anything in his current position, he was fully aware John already knew that.

Just knowing what was about to happen made Sherlock's skin tingle everywhere John touched him. Some part of the detective's brain analysed the affect and determined that it was due to anticipation. It didn't reduce the shivery sensation a single whit and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out when the Dom's hand drifted between his legs. He closed his eyes and just let the Dom get on with it. Dreading it and wanting it both at the same time.

“Are you ready, boy? Don't talk, just shake your head or nod.”

Sherlock nodded, even though he wasn't certain he was ready at all. Well, physically he was, or soon would be – he could feel John's lube slicked fingers circling his entrance.

It took not long enough in Sherlock opinion to open up his hole and the coldness of the vibrator made him shiver. He bit his lip, he would not make things worse.

He even managed to keep silent when the vibrator settled against his prostate, though it was a near thing. When John flicked it on, however, he let out a low, desperate whine and his hips bucked.

John grinned down at him. “I'll just read a bit while you get acclimatised, then, shall I?”

Sherlock's teeth went around his bottom lip again and he began gnawing on it even as he nodded his response to his Dom.

Just about the time Sherlock got accustomed to the sensations, John clicked the vibrator up a notch. He didn't even look up from his book as he did it.

The detective couldn't work out what was worse, the actual issue of the double vibrations or the fact John was more interested in some stupid book than him.

John could feel his boy's eyes on him. Still not looking up from his book, he issued a cautionary statement, “You really don't want to glare at me, boy.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, then closed them, wondering how long this would go on before he was allowed to get up. Not that he expected the vibrations to stop when that happened. He decided the one in the cage was the worst of the two, it was like it followed him, the only distraction he could think of was in his head. He tried everything to get into his Mind Palace but with his hands how they were he couldn't do it, he just growled.

Abruptly, the vibrations in his arse ceased. Sherlock didn't know what it meant, but he could tell from John's posture that the infuriating thing's batteries hadn't simply gone out. All he knew for certain was he had best enjoy the respite while it lasted.

“I can't bloody win with you can I, Sherlock?” He turned the other vibrator off and moved to take it out.

Sherlock's face contorted in confusion. He had no idea what he had done this time. He opened his mouth to ask, then remembered he wasn't allowed to talk.

“Is it too much to ask for you to enjoy the pleasure? Rather than choosing to grumble and growl and fight and kick out.”

Sherlock froze dead still. He had, hadn't he? He'd been kicking and thrashing to try and get into his head. Bollocks. He decided to risk it. “Sorry, sir.”

John sighed and shook his head, trying to decide what to do next. He just didn't have the energy to go round and round about things, so he simply fell to the bed and stared at the ceiling.

He hadn't expected complete stillness and silence from the sub, not with such stimulations in not one, but two places. What he had expected was a few whimpers and shifts to gain/remove pressure. He decided whatever Sherlock did next would determine which way this would go.

The doctor remained staring at the ceiling for nearly half an hour and his boy next to him hadn't moved at all, despite his arms being trussed up in such an uncomfortable position, or the vibrator, which although not on, was still resting on his prostate.

That was the path he would choose then.

John rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow to look at Sherlock. The detective felt his eyes on him and dared a brief glance at his Dom, hoping for a sign that he had redeemed himself. He was lucky his Dom was looking down his body rather than at his face when his gaze had flickered, he quickly closed his eyes to hide from whatever decision John came to.

Sherlock felt the bed shake as John shifted his position. He held his breath in anticipation. When the doctor placed a kiss on his lips, the sub's eyes flew open and he breathed an 'oh' into John's mouth.

The last half an hour, not being able to move through fear of destroying whatever chances he had had been far worse than however long it had been with both vibrators.

John drew back and looked at his boy. “You were so good for me the last half hour. I'm proud of you, boy.”

Hesitantly, Sherlock smiled. He was still afraid that something would go wrong.

“How are your shoulders, boy? Do I need to release the cuffs?”

“Do you want to release the cuffs, sir?”

The doctor smiled again, laying down on top of him for another kiss. Sherlock bit his lip to keep in his groan of discomfit.

John noticed the odd play of Sherlock's lips against his and realised at once what it meant. He drew back and raised up on his elbows. “This was about distraction, boy, not punishment. It's alright to tell me if you're uncomfortable.”

“Yes, sir.”

John's mouth twitched up in a half smile. “Was that a yes, sir that you understood or a yes, sir that you're uncomfortable.”

Sherlock hesitated only a moment. “Both, sir.”

The doctor chuckled and moved to unbuckle the cuffs. “You can speak, boy,” John offered when he noticed the odd look he was getting.

“I thought I had ruined everything, sir.”

“So did I. But then whilst we were just lying there I realised that you had had no idea you'd been struggling, it genuinely had been a bit of a shock when you realised. And you more than made up for it in the last half an hour.”

Sherlock winced as John repositioned his arms and started massaging the soreness out. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He opened it again.

“Go ahead, boy.”

“May I hug you, sir?”

“You may, but give me a moment,” he raced to the door calling over his shoulder. “And actually stay on the bed this time.”

He was gone less than a minute, when he reappeared he rugby tackled his detective into the bed from where he'd been sat. “I needed a pee,” he clarified.

Suddenly, Sherlock realised he really, really had to pee too. He kissed John briefly on the cheek, then said, “Um, I think I need the loo.”

The doctor laughed and watched him titter on the edge of the bed.

“It's alright, boy, you can go. But, um... I should probably remove the vibrator first.”

Sherlock blushed, then rolled to his side and let John do as he suggested, then he scrambled off of the bed and to the loo, making it just in time to keep his bladder from bursting. After his business was done, he followed the sound of John moving around and found him in the kitchen.

“Thought I would make tea or something,” the doctor commented absently. “Then I need to update the blog. I haven't done in ages.”

“Boring John, utterly boring.”

“Did you just call me John?”

Sherlock shrugged and the doctor just rolled his eyes. “Were you the reason my drafted version of the last update suddenly disappeared?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Oh, really?” John raised an eyebrow in question.

“You're most recent draft was far less mind numbing than most. I wouldn't have deleted it.” Sherlock walked over and picked up his violin and began to play.

The doctor stopped what he was doing and just looked at the pretty picture his boy made. All silhouetted against the darkness outside.

Sherlock had been looking out the window as he played, observing the night time activity below. His brow furrowed at seeing Lestrade walking along the pathway. Something was terribly wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> This story intersects briefly at this point with our mystrade fic, [Tension](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5654032) then slides into [ You Seem to Like It Well Enough ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6101914) which includes johnlock, mystrade, johncroft, sherstrade and holmescest.


End file.
